


close to the wind

by wonuza



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Carnival, Character Study, Circus, Fairy Tale Elements, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sailing, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, the sexy stuff is not explicit but it is definitely sexy., vaguely steampunk....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-09-15 16:06:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 56,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16936371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonuza/pseuds/wonuza
Summary: to sail close to the wind:(nautical)to sail in a direction close to that from which the wind is blowing, but still make headway.(idiomatic)to behave in a manner that is on the verge of being dangerous, improper or illegal.wonwoo is an ex-sailor who lives in a garden that never wilts, and soonyoung is the star trapeze artist of a traveling carnival.  somewhere between the land and the sea and the sky, they find each other and hold fast.





	close to the wind

**Author's Note:**

> happy soonwoo day!!! please accept my small, meager, fifty thousand word offering. soonwoo are so so important to me and so is everyone i've met and befriended because of them. i love them and all of you. best boys, best people. ♡ 0104 0104 0104 ♡
> 
> so. this would not exist without rabaab [cuddlebone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlebone) and ra [newvision](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newvision)!!! i love and respect both of these talented kids so much and their works inspired this a lot! if i succeeded in channeling even one percent of the depth and intricacy and style of either of their writing i can die happy. i am eternally grateful to both of them for putting up with my yelling about this and reading and reacting to enormous chunks of it at a time and just generally supporting my insane endeavors.
> 
> i am ALSO eternally grateful to absolutely anyone who sits down and gives this monster a chance. i worked So hard on it, for a very long time, and i am really, really, really proud of it. i hope you like it too.

The thing about the sea is that even at her most dangerous, her most unpredictable, eventually she’ll carry you somewhere. That somewhere might not be where you expect, it might not be where you planned, but eventually— _eventually_ —you’ll get there.

Unless, of course, you end up ten thousand leagues underneath her, but that’s the risk you take. You have to get where you’re going, after all.

  


~ ~ ~

  


It has been four years since the seasons changed for Wonwoo.

The seasons change around his cottage, outside his garden walls, but for Wonwoo it’s spring, always spring. He supposes it started not long after Jeonghan took off for the mountains and Wonwoo moved back to his childhood home, sitting on several acres of land left to him by his parents. When he returned there, he found every square inch overgrown with trees and wildflowers and tall grass. For an entire summer he tends to it, makes it fit for living again, because he isn’t sure what else to do; he works the land and tends to the plants without stop and without fail. By fall, his tiny cottage stands in the middle of an enormous maze of flowers, so lush and colorful and fragrant he can’t help but feel proud, can’t help but think, _maybe it’s not so bad._

When winter comes and his garden doesn’t die, instead staying perfect and green, he barely blinks an eye at it. This is how things are now: things stay the same, and Wonwoo stays the same too.

But they didn’t used to stay the same. Wonwoo hasn’t always been stationary the way he is now. For three years he’d moved from port to port, island to island, from city to city—always the same ship, though, the Raconteur, so if _that_ counts toward stationary, he supposes he’d concede it. _If_ it counted, which it doesn’t. The years Wonwoo spent at sea were the least stationary of his life, and the ones through which he felt the most _him,_ the most at home. He and Jeonghan ran off as soon as they were old enough and they hadn’t looked back, skipping across the water like stones, finding adventure where they could. Jeonghan would sing, wooing boys and girls and otherwises in every port city, to make them some extra money as they served on the crew to cover their passage, and Wonwoo—Wonwoo would watch, and he’d write. He wrote down everything, every preposterous and grotesque sea creature that didn’t seem real, every person claiming to be a witch, every shooting star and every squall. All of it, anything that passed through his field of vision, he spun into fantastical stories great and small. Jeonghan would read them in their cabin, by candlelight, reclining in his swaying hammock and smoking one of his long, thin cigarettes. Notebooks upon notebooks he’d leaf through and Wonwoo would wait, watching him read, until finally he’d finish and praise Wonwoo to no end. Back then, that had been more than enough—Jeonghan’s fingers combing idly through the salt-stained pages, pausing only to pass Wonwoo his cigarette—and so he’d never shown anyone else. He hadn’t needed to, hadn’t had the time. Printing presses were new, then, hard to come by, and it wasn’t as though he’d be in one place long enough to convince someone to publish him anyway. 

Every so often, they’d return to their actual home—or, the place they’re from, anyway. Jeonghan had a tiny apartment he kept, and Wonwoo stayed there with him between voyages, usually only a week or two at a time before they set out on the next months-long journey. And when the time came, they’d go. Adventuring suited them. They suited each other—Jeonghan’s rowdy, sparkling wit, and Wonwoo’s warm, bright-eyed discernment.

But sometimes things don’t stay the same. Sometimes they end. Sometimes, you end up at the bottom of the ocean.

Jeonghan and Wonwoo return to their bustling port city at the turn of the century after a year-long voyage, practically around the entire globe. When they arrive, they learn that land doesn’t stand still when you’re at sea: electricity and steam-power have spread, the air is more acrid, plumes of smoke billow up and into the clouds day and night. Though the sun still shines, and the ocean breeze still blows in, things seem darker, more mechanical, less real—according to Jeonghan, that is.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wonwoo says. “You’re only saying that because you aren’t used to it. It isn’t any less real, only different—change isn’t bad. It’s how the world works.”

Jeonghan huffs at him, and Wonwoo should have seen it—the way he’d cast his gaze around the cobblestone street, squinted darkly up at the smokestacks that had risen from the earth in the last year. “I suppose you’re right.”

But Wonwoo hadn’t seen it, so he grins wide and bounces his eyebrows. “I always am, you know.”

Maybe if Wonwoo had noticed he would have been more prepared for being shoved off the proverbial gangplank, as it were: they’re out having drinks when they meet Junhui, who’s passing through on his way back to his home. He’s from far, _far_ north, he says, further north than most people ever make it in their lifetime—and that’s all it takes for Jeonghan’s eyes to sparkle towards the looming, white mountain ranges in the distance instead of the sea.

Decommissioned, they call it, Wonwoo thinks darkly—when a ship gets taken off the waves for good.

“What’s your heading,” Wonwoo asks when he arrives home a couple of days later to see Jeonghan packing.

“North. With Junhui. I’m going to see things no one from here has ever seen.” He shoots Wonwoo a devilish smile. “It’s going to be spectacular.”

Wonwoo waits for an invitation. It doesn’t come.

So this is how Wonwoo finds himself in one place. Stationary. Decommissioned. Jeonghan tells him he’s welcome to keep the apartment, but it doesn’t feel right—none of this feels right, but what can he say? So he retreats quietly to his cottage, and the enormous garden surrounding it flourishes year round. The seasons change around him; the world keeps progressing and shifting; while without understanding or even realizing— 

Wonwoo puts down roots.

 

_**i. grounded at anchor**_

As he’s locking his gate behind him, Wonwoo hears someone call out to him. He turns, and sees Jihoon—his neighbor across the way—sprinting down toward him, slowing to a stop and doubling over, panting. “Radishes,” he forces out.

It makes Wonwoo chuckle. “How many?” he asks, rummaging through his packed cart, already unable to remember in which of the three levels he stashed his radishes.

“All of them,” Jihoon says, reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet. “Hurry, before Mingyu sees and tries to fight me for them. He’s so tall, it would be unfair.”

Wonwoo grins, shaking his head. “You two are ridiculous. I’ll have more soon, you know. Kind of comes with the territory.”

“I know. But I don’t want to wait, and I should get neighbor privilege.”

As he hands over the basket of radishes, he levels Jihoon with a flat look. “Mingyu’s my neighbor too.”

Jihoon simpers, but pays him. “Yes, well, he’s too slow.” Their strange rivalry amuses Wonwoo to no end, especially when his wares are part of it—one month it’s radishes they’re both after, the next it’s cucumbers, but it’s always very lucrative for Wonwoo. “They look great, thanks Wonwoo—oh,” he tacks on at the end, just as he’s started to turn around to leave. “You’re probably gonna have to compete for attention, though. There’s some kind of carnival in town.” 

Sure enough, when Wonwoo reaches the city, it’s bustling with even more activity than a normal market day—and it isn’t that he’s actually worried about not selling out, because he always does, between demand from civilians and restaurants. It’s just that his cart gets jostled a bit as he tries to push it through the crowd, and the unfamiliarity makes him sigh in annoyance. As he sets up at his normal spot in the square, between the woman selling the knitted scarves and the boy selling paintings, he sees what must be the carnival troupe Jihoon was talking about. There’s a tent set up that a few girls in flashy costumes are beckoning people into, and a man shouting, extolling the many attractions of the show that’ll be taking place that evening, and several other boys doing street magic or party tricks. Still, even with the distractions, Wonwoo manages to sell almost everything on his cart within a few hours, and he starts to quietly head out of the square. He passes by the tent, pointedly looking ahead and not making eye contact, but— 

“Sir, I see you’re finished, why not find out what the future has in store for you?” 

Wonwoo turns to see a boy smiling widely at him, gesturing toward the tent. He looks quickly left and right, and forces a smile. “I really do need to be going—” 

“Surely you can support our struggling, tirelessly travailing performers after you’ve had such a successful day?” A small group of other boys has gathered behind the one speaking, all eyeing Wonwoo closely, and Wonwoo knows he’s been backed into a corner. 

Above the entrance of the tent, a banner boasts _LUCKY 13 TRAVELING CARNIVAL,_ and as he’s ushered inside, Wonwoo feels decidedly not lucky. 

The tent is dark, lit only by the sunlight that makes it inside through the entrance. Wonwoo is pushed gently into a chair in front of a table, and the boy with the smile leans over his shoulder and whispers in his ear: “Jisoo’s the best in the business. He’s the real deal, y’know. He’ll be right with you.” He claps Wonwoo on the chest before disappearing somewhere behind him. Wonwoo turns around, back toward daylight, and squints. At least four pairs of eyes are peeking around the flaps of the tent, watching him. Another pair joins them after a moment, accompanied by the faint tinkling of a bell, and Wonwoo lets his eyes adjust and stares at the new arrival, searching for the source of the sound. The boy has sharp, slanted eyes that blink back at Wonwoo suspiciously, and Wonwoo clears his throat, beginning to look away—noticing the boy’s several dangling earrings as he does, one of which appears to be a tiny silver bell. 

There’s a noise from the other side of the table and Wonwoo whirls around, feeling vaguely unsettled. The person he sees isn’t what he expected—he’s not wearing anything particularly magic or psychic-looking and, really, he just looks _normal._ He frowns momentarily at Wonwoo when they make eye contact, before his face returns to a calm, serene smile. 

“What’s your name?” 

Wonwoo’s eyes shift left and right before he answers, hesitantly. “Wonwoo.” 

“I’m Jisoo. Why are you such a skeptic when you already know magic exists, Wonwoo?” 

Wonwoo’s mouth falls open a bit, and he blinks. “I’m sorry?” 

Jisoo smiles, glances behind Wonwoo toward the entrance, and then points one finger at Wonwoo. “You, my friend,” he says, “are going to have to stop trying to smother out every whiff of adventure that comes your way. There’s no point. It’s not a flower. It’s not even a weed.” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms. “What is it, then?” 

“I think you know.”

Trying not to laugh coldly, Wonwoo stands. “How much?”

Strangely, though, Jisoo shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Family discount.”

Wonwoo raises one eyebrow in confusion. “What about the _tirelessly travailing performers?”_

The corners of Jisoo’s lips seem to naturally turn up, but they turn up even more as he answers. “Between you and me, Seokmin likes to exaggerate.”

“...Right.” The whole experience has Wonwoo feeling shaken, and annoyed by the fact that he’s shaken. “Well, thanks, I guess.” 

Jisoo waves him out, calling “until next time” at his back as he goes. As what seems like half the circus troupe watches him leave, Wonwoo truly hopes there won’t _be_ a next time. The boy with the bell earring stares at him exceptionally hard, eyes so piercing Wonwoo has to look away.

Wonwoo returns to his cart, and then returns home. He waves to Mingyu, who’s outside watching his dogs run around his yard. He locks the gate behind him and pushes his cart up the path to the cottage—uneasily, with the distinct impression he’s being watched. Writing it off as leftover paranoia from his strange experience in the city, he enters his house. Instantly he feels comforted, the nautical maps lining the walls providing familiarity...although, today, they’re also providing a lingering bitterness. Wonwoo knows he shouldn’t be putting stock in the words of some charlatan clairvoyant, but he can’t seem to help it.

Then there’s the question of why he’d bring up magic. This shouldn’t matter, because Wonwoo doesn’t believe in magic, but there _is_ his garden. Wonwoo wishes he’d thought quicker when he was with Jisoo, he would have told him he’s a skeptic because he doesn’t think explaining everything you don’t understand away with _magic_ is productive or realistic. But that would have been acknowledging that Jisoo had known something he shouldn’t have known, or at the very least made a lucky guess, and that shouldn’t be validated either.

It’s doing his head in, thinking about magic and adventure, so he procures a basket of blueberries from his personal store and grabs a book and heads down to his pond, to read and hopefully clear his head. This is his favorite place on his property, covered in weeping cherry trees constantly in bloom, reflected prettily in the pond’s clear water. His favorite place _within_ his favorite place is a small stretch of land extending into the pond, with one singular, enormous tree. This is where he comes to relax—this is where he feels at home now. 

Only, usually, there’s not someone already relaxing there when he arrives.

Wonwoo stops in his tracks when he notices, and looks around incredulously. His gate was locked! And furthermore, why would someone break in just to _recline by his pond?_ Hesitantly, he tiptoes closer, and upon further observation he recognizes the billowing white shirt, the purple and black striped trousers, and, when he’s close enough, the sparkling jewelry. This is the boy from the carnival, the one with the bell. Once he realizes, Wonwoo narrows his eyes and strides toward him, stopping when he’s a few feet away. The boy still hasn’t noticed him, lounging lazily in the sun streaming through the boughs of the trees. “ _Excuse_ me,” Wonwoo says, and the boy’s head snaps toward him, eyebrows raised in surprise, “but I’m very interested in what you think you’re doing here.”

The boy doesn’t get up, or change his relaxed demeanor at all, really. In fact, he smiles. “I saw you getting your fortune read.” Wonwoo stares at him sternly, as this is not an explanation. “Right. There’s no way of saying this that casts me in a _good_ light, really, but my intentions were pure, I swear.” He bites his lip, then continues. “One of my compatriots stole something from you. I followed you here to bring it back. But I got here and...got distracted,” he finishes, looking up into the canopy. He looks back down after a moment and reaches into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a pocket watch— _Wonwoo’s_ pocket watch. Wonwoo steps forward and bends down to snatch it out of his hand by the chain. 

“Why bring it back?” he asks, skeptically, as he folds it back inside his vest. 

“We steal from the rich and terrible. I’m not sure you’re either.” 

Against his better judgment, Wonwoo squats down next to the boy. “And how would you know?” 

He turns toward Wonwoo, smiling again. “I have a _very_ keen eye for these things,” he states simply. Then he continues, gesturing to Wonwoo as he speaks: “You dress well enough, but not like you _know_ you dress well. More a matter of you just...having alright taste, than actually _trying._ Your boots are worn out, which means you probably have just the one pair you wear all the time...also, those are work boots, not high class fancy boots. The knees of your trousers are dirty, so you do work yourself—I’m going to take a _wild_ guess and assume gardening,” he finishes with a laugh. Wonwoo quirks an eyebrow at him, unfortunately unable to refute any of his claims. “So, there. I’m Soonyoung, if you wanted to know. Are those blueberries?”

Wonwoo had forgotten about the berries, but Soonyoung’s eyeing them with interest. He looks his unexpected guest over and regards the sheathed dagger at his belt with trepidation. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Soonyoung, who gives him a patronizing smile and shakes his head. 

“If I was going to use it on you, I’d have already done it.”

So Wonwoo, squinting, not knowing why and hardly believing himself, silently offers him the basket of blueberries. The smile he receives in return is...he searches for a word, but his vocabulary’s suffered since he stopped writing. Jolly? Charming? Effervescent?

He scoffs internally. Effervescent is a bit much, he thinks. Still, though, Soonyoung’s eyes have softened since he’d seen them in town—just a bit, they’re still piercing and dark, but his smile transforms his face from something intense and chilly to something much warmer, much kinder.

As Wonwoo is trying to describe Soonyoung to himself, Soonyoung pops one of the berries into his mouth. His eyes fall closed and he groans—Wonwoo smirks. Circus food must leave something to be desired. As he chews and swallows, Wonwoo tries not to watch him too closely, and fails. He hasn’t had anything new to observe in a while, after all. Now that he’s this close he can make out some more of Soonyoung’s earrings: the bell must be on the other side, but on the ear currently faced toward Wonwoo there’s a long, blue-green feather, a dainty chain from which a tiny silver charm in the shape of a crescent moon dangles, and a gold hoop with what look like rubies dotting its surface. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up haphazardly, and his forearms boast jewelry as well, but underneath the bracelets is a swath of multicolored tattoos that continues under his shirt and out of sight. His neck is adorned with several necklaces, but Wonwoo ends up too distracted by how revealing the neckline of his shirt is to look at them too carefully. Soonyoung opens his eyes and catches him looking, but doesn’t have any particular reaction. “What’s your name?” he asks, reaching for another blueberry. Wonwoo finds himself still just...staring, and blinking slowly at Soonyoung in response. He grins. “Don’t make me call you Blueberry Boy. I need something better to work with than that...sweet as it may be.”

Wonwoo swallows. “It’s Wonwoo.”

Soonyoung has settled back on his elbows again, his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed over one another. He’s made himself _awfully_ comfortable for someone who snuck in here without permission, but something about him intrigues Wonwoo, enough to make him look over his over-familiarity. “You live here by yourself, Wonwoo?” Wonwoo nods. “Awful big for one person.” Another nod. “Are you usually all alone out here?”

Always. “Usually.”

“Well,” Soonyoung starts, pushing himself upright and folding his legs. “Between the pink trees and the blueberries I may never leave,” he jokes with a wink.

Wonwoo wonders if Soonyoung realizes it isn’t cherry blossom season. It’s late spring, so anyone who doesn’t know when cherry blossom season is wouldn’t question it, but if this was a normal garden they wouldn’t be blooming. That’s what Wonwoo’s thinking about, though if he were paying attention to his heart, he might have felt the tiny skip it gave, and if so much of what he really felt hadn’t been dulled over the past few years he might have noticed the tightening in his chest and stomach. Instead, he’s just vaguely amused and reluctantly endeared to this strange, twinkly boy—in spite of his friends having tried to rob him. He relaxes a little, drawing his knees up to his chest and clasping his hands around his legs.

After a few moments of silence, Soonyoung looks Wonwoo up and down. “You were staring at me. Back in town.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “ _You_ were staring at _me_ first.” Then he gestures to his own ear. “I heard your bell.”

“Ah,” Soonyoung says, breaking into a wide smile and turning his body to face Wonwoo’s, then turning his head to show off the bell, shaking his head so it jingles quietly. Beside it hangs a fancy looking bronze key. Wonwoo blinks again, a hint of a smile on his lips. Soonyoung’s smiling too when he straightens out to look at Wonwoo again. “What did Jisoo say to you, anyway?”

A scowl darkens Wonwoo’s expression almost instantly. “A load of nonsense.”

“I doubt that. He has a gift.” At Wonwoo’s disbelieving glare, he nods, eyes widening in sincerity. “It’s true! He can’t see _everything,_ but he can see...well, more than you or I, for sure. What did he say?”

Looking down and pulling at a tuft of grass, Wonwoo huffs. He doesn’t say anything. Honestly, the ‘reading’ _had_ unsettled him, and he doesn’t know if he wants to talk about it to a stranger, no matter how endearing he is. Soonyoung speaks up again. “You don’t _have_ to tell me.” Wonwoo looks up, and smiles a little. “You can make it up to me by coming to the show.”

Wonwoo’s incredulous. “After you tried to rob me?”

“That wasn’t _me._ _I_ did the _opposite_ of rob you.” It makes Wonwoo laugh, which makes Soonyoung smile in satisfaction. “We’re only in town for a couple of weeks, you know. I think you should come see me.”

Wonwoo sighs, unable to stifle his smile. “What do you do?”

“Me?” Soonyoung says, batting his eyes and placing a hand over his chest. He stands, stretching his arms and his back. “I fly.”

“You fly.”

“Indubitably,” Soonyoung says primly, extending a hand to Wonwoo to help him off the ground. Wonwoo takes it, soft despite the calluses that are apparent at first touch. When he’s stood up, Soonyoung wags a finger at him. “I know what you’re thinking. I can’t show you. No free admittance, and besides, you haven’t a trapeze.”

Raising his chin, Wonwoo looks down at Soonyoung. “Well, you’re going to have to do _something_ to convince me.”

“Hm.” Soonyoung looks around, apparently sizing up how much room he has to work with. He raises his arms above his head, before flipping upside-down and standing on his hands, walking around a bit, raising one arm off the ground and balancing on the other. His jewelry hangs upside-down and jingles as he goes. Wonwoo stares, entranced by every move. Eventually Soonyoung rights himself gracefully, and very quickly launches into a series of cartwheels and flips, landing perfectly in front of Wonwoo, faces close. “And if I had a tightrope I could show you more,” he says, panting a bit. He drops into a sweeping bow, taking one of Wonwoo’s hands and meeting his eyes as he kisses the back of it. “You won’t regret it.” Straightening up, Soonyoung looks at Wonwoo with his eyes sparkling and his voice oddly soft. “It’s awfully spectacular.”

Wonwoo feels his face fall, just a bit. “...I can’t do it tonight,” he says, reluctant to meet Soonyoung’s eyes. “Sorry.”

Soonyoung’s face falls, too. “Suit yourself, then.” He looks around a bit awkwardly, and his smile returns. “I should be going. We have to rehearse.”

“Let me walk you out.”

Once they’ve reached the gate, Soonyoung smiles, softly. “Maybe tomorrow?”

The way he asks is so hopeful, and Wonwoo doesn’t understand how someone he met so recently could make him feel so guilty. But he does, because he knows he won’t go. So he doesn’t answer, but he does smile again. “It was nice to meet you, Soonyoung.”

“You too, Wonwoo.”

For whatever reason, Wonwoo finds himself feeling terrible. He doesn’t understand. It’s not as though he knows Soonyoung, or has any obligation to him—it’s not as though he’s never seen a circus before. But he also finds himself avoiding the city for the next two weeks, until he gets confirmation from Mingyu that the carnival has moved on. Once they have, and his routine turns normal once again, it isn’t hard for Wonwoo’s entire strange experience with the carnival to fall to the back of his mind. It comes to the forefront every now and then, however, over the next few months—when he finds himself bored, when he picks blueberries, when the memory of Jisoo’s words to him randomly surfaces and occupies him for a short time.

Most of all, though, it happens when he hears bells ring, and those are the times that—rather than filling him with vague unease—the thought of the carnival makes him smile.

  


~ ~ ~

  


Winter is the strangest time for Wonwoo: oftentimes he forgets, and trots down the path to the main road from his cottage in his usual button down shirt and patterned vest, only to exit his gate and be smacked with icy air. But he can’t just hole up in his tiny circle of springtime, much as he’s considered it, because he does have to make a living, still, and winter is his most successful season. That year, the winter had been exceptionally harsh, and Wonwoo’s garden had kept much of the city fed and healthy—but that had been the only exceptional thing, really. The days passed as they always did, and the months passed the same.

Wonwoo leaves his house one morning during the in-between period bridging winter and spring to drop off an order. The location is much nearer to the docks than he normally goes, and he spends most of the time the restaurant owner insists on making small talk itching to leave, constantly adjusting himself so his back is to the breeze coming in off the ocean. He heads out of town distracted and on edge and with no way of knowing what will be waiting for him once he reaches home beyond the usual nothing, so to say he’s surprised to see Soonyoung leaning against his gate would be an understatement.

He looks much the same—maybe slightly paler, dressed a bit warmer—and he smiles when Wonwoo approaches. Bemusedly, Wonwoo realizes he’s been _waiting_ there for him.

In lieu of any kind of normal greeting, Soonyoung pushes off the gate and stands up straight. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Wonwoo quirks an eyebrow. “Are you going to sneak in anyway if I don’t?”

Soonyoung simply grins and raises his eyebrows in response. Wonwoo, feeling very _fluttery_ all of a sudden, unlocks the gate and leads the way.

He doesn’t think anything of it, but it _is_ only just the end of winter, and, well, his garden doesn’t reflect that whatsoever. The further up the path he leads Soonyoung, the higher the temperature climbs— subtle at first, but the closer they get to the cottage, the greener the grass becomes, the more leaves cover the trees, the more flowers line the path. Soonyoung gives a single, incredulous laugh when he realizes. “What—” he says, and when Wonwoo turns to him he’s stopped dead in the middle of the path, his mouth hanging open. Wonwoo smirks at him. “What is this place?”

“This is where I live.”

“But—I—winter’s only just ending? How is it...this?”

Wonwoo shrugs, and starts walking again, leaving Soonyoung hurrying to catch up. “It just is. It has been for awhile.”

“Don’t you know how strange that sounds?!”

“I do.”

“Is it magic?”

“There’s no such thing as magic.” Soonyoung scoffs, and gestures around wildly, and Wonwoo laughs. “I don’t have an explanation.”

The rest of the way, Soonyoung walks forwards and backwards in turn, spinning continually to take in the whole garden with wide-eyed amazement. Wonwoo watches Soonyoung in a manner not entirely different—at least until Soonyoung trips, letting out a frantic squeak of _shit, fuck_ and Wonwoo reaches out to help steady him.

“My hero,” Soonyoung says, half-sarcastically, at the way Wonwoo’s trying and failing to hold in his laughter.

Wonwoo finds himself having no qualms inviting Soonyoung into his house, until Soonyoung is actually in his house and observing his decor, which prompts him to ask: “Do you sail?”

The words stick in Wonwoo’s throat and he hesitates. “I used to,” he manages after a moment. Soonyoung seems to notice the tension, because when Wonwoo looks up at him he’s watching him carefully, more serious than Wonwoo remembers him being, eyes discerning. It’s as they look at each other in that moment that Wonwoo realizes he has no idea what Soonyoung’s doing here, or why he’d want to visit him again in the first place. “Why are you here?”

This makes Soonyoung’s smile fall back into place. “ _You_ never came to the show.”

Wonwoo takes a breath and exhales it. “I didn’t.”

Soonyoung cocks his head to one side. “Why?”

And why didn’t he?

But really, why didn’t he? Last year, Soonyoung had asked, and he’d said the wrong thing without meaning to and made Wonwoo retreat back to his cottage. He could have gone another night, but Wonwoo’s mind said _you won’t_ and so he didn’t. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t have an answer. “I don’t know,” Wonwoo says quietly, unsure how Soonyoung will take it. 

Strangely, Soonyoung brightens at this. “Good. That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“Of course. If you don’t have a real reason…” He pauses, and sits down at Wonwoo’s kitchen table, and leans his chin on his hand, blinking up at him. “ _That_ means I can change your mind.” Wonwoo sits down as well, unable to stop the way he leans forward to hang on Soonyoung’s every word as he tells Wonwoo the season hasn’t started yet, but they did well in this area last year so they’re planning to stay here a few weeks, and then stay along the coast for most of this year’s run. There’s something about the way he talks, excited about everything, a smirk and a sultry undercurrent to each syllable as though he has a secret he knows you’re dying to know. He says everything like it’s a story, and Wonwoo is absolutely fascinated. It’s been a long time since he’s let anyone new into his life, let alone his home—so long it feels like he’s doing something wrong, breaking some unspoken rule. It feels good. Exciting. 

It feels even better when Soonyoung comes back to do it again—and again. They visit and chat—mostly Soonyoung talks, tells stories from the circus that are really too fantastic to be completely true, and Wonwoo listens, hypnotized. He’s used to being quiet, after the past few years of nothing _but_ quiet, so he listens as much as Soonyoung will let him. He marvels at how easy it is to be around Soonyoung, to get to know him, to have him fill every lull in conversation with intrigue and sparkle.

Eventually, during each visit, when Wonwoo’s meager electric light is humming comfortingly to keep the darkness away and he’s lost track of what time it is, Soonyoung turns the conversation on him. “How did you come to live in this place, Wonwoo?” he asks, quietly. It’s a different tone than he has in the daylight; softer, sincerer. 

Wonwoo sighs, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Soonyoung, who’s looking at him in such interest and wonder. For a moment he considers brushing him off, but it feels unfair, and then he realizes, for the first time, that he wants Soonyoung to know him too—he wants to _really_ let him in, the way he’s let Wonwoo in. He just doesn’t know how to _do_ it. He used to know this. Now it’s been too long.

He steels himself. “I lived here as a child. I moved back when I stopped sailing.”

Soonyoung’s head tilts. “Why did you stop sailing,” he nearly whispers.

“I lived with a friend. My best friend, we sailed together.” These words—they fall out of his mouth, clunky and dusty from disuse. It can’t possibly be as nice as listening to Soonyoung, but Soonyoung’s attention is fixed on Wonwoo completely. “He left a few years ago. He met someone and decided to follow him to find _adventure._ He was bored of sailing, I suppose. It just wasn’t enough for him anymore.” Wonwoo shrinks in on himself a bit, biting his lip and staring at a knot in the wood of the table.

“So you stopped because he stopped?”

“I just...stopped. And I didn’t want to stay in his apartment, because I…” He hesitates. So much of this he’s never vocalized. “Because I don’t think he’s coming back. He sends letters...or, sent. I haven’t gotten one in awhile. So...”

The way Soonyoung’s looking at him is thoughtful. Clearly, he can tell Wonwoo is uncomfortable with this train of conversation—maybe he wouldn’t be, if he’d spoken about it at all since it happened, but he hasn’t, so he isn’t ready to _talk_ about it yet, and Soonyoung can tell, and he doesn’t push Wonwoo to discuss it further. The silence stretches on, not awkwardly, just silently, until Wonwoo clears his throat. “It’s getting late. Aren’t you going to have to practice tomorrow?”

Soonyoung grins. “It doesn’t start getting carnival-late until single digits.” Wonwoo smiles back. It feels so nice to talk to someone again. “I can stay a while longer.”

So this is how Soonyoung and Wonwoo get to know each other. Soonyoung shows up after he’s practiced with the troupe for this year’s show, and tells Wonwoo how good everyone is getting and how fantastic it’s going to be and waits for him to confirm that he’ll come this time. Wonwoo never does, because he’s afraid Soonyoung will stop showing up, and now that he’s part of Wonwoo’s routine he isn’t sure what he’d _do._

Currently, Soonyoung’s regaling him with the tale of the time Lucky 13 performed for royalty, and Wonwoo once again feels this kind of imbalance—whether Soonyoung’s stories are true or not (he can’t tell, honestly, but he doesn’t really care,) he’s so willing to tell them, and Wonwoo can still barely say a word about himself.

“So they reached out to all these different carnivals and performing troupes because the princess, you see, she hadn’t smiled since her mother tragically died,” Soonyoung’s saying, gesticulating with his hands in the center of Wonwoo’s kitchen. 

“Let me guess,” Wonwoo says, rolling his eyes. “You made her smile.”

Soonyoung’s chest puffs up. “Of course I did. Who do you think you’re talking to?” He pulls his chair around so it’s closer to Wonwoo’s and positions it backwards, straddling it and leaning his arms on the back of it. “I made the prince smile too,” he says, waiting for Wonwoo to react. When he doesn’t, Soonyoung waggles his eyebrows. “I made the prince do a lot more than smile.” At that, Wonwoo scoffs. “You don’t believe me!” Soonyoung exclaims, offended. “It’s _true,_ you know. He scoots his chair closer, so he can tell the rest of the tale as though it’s a secret. “The king, he wanted me to marry his daughter because I made her laugh. I told him not a chance—and that’s when the prince stood up in front of the whole court and declared his undying love for me.” Wonwoo raises one eyebrow, skeptical and unimpressed. “Is it that unbelievable that a prince would fall in love with me?!”

The genuine indignation in Soonyoung’s voice makes Wonwoo’s facade crack, and he breaks into a fit of giggles. When he’s finished, he looks at Soonyoung for a moment, smiling good-naturedly despite Wonwoo’s teasing—and takes a breath. 

“When’s the first show?”

A smile tugs at Soonyoung’s lips. “Next week.”

“Why do you want me to go so badly?”

Soonyoung thinks, pursing his lips. “Because you’ve shared all this with me?” Strange, since Wonwoo had only just been feeling like he hadn’t shared enough. “Your magic garden, and all. And, you’re, you know. My friend,” Soonyoung continues with a sleepy grin. “You really ought to come see _my_ world now. It’s just time.”

“It isn’t magic,” Wonwoo retorts, unable to keep himself from returning Soonyoung’s smile. “And...what about before we became friends?”

Wrinkling his nose, Soonyoung looks a tad sheepish before responding. “I suppose I just thought you were sweet. Not everyone would have reacted to a random acrobat who followed them home, snuck into their garden, and returned a stolen object, by saying ‘hm, yes, I shall reward him with blueberries.’” Wonwoo laughs again, feeling himself _blush._ How utterly ridiculous. 

Soonyoung is sweet too, though, undeniably so, and Wonwoo can’t imagine anyone turning him away, no matter the circumstance of their meeting. 

“I’ll be there,” he says, and Soonyoung _beams,_ bright as the sun. “I’ll come see you.”

  


By opening night, Soonyoung knows Wonwoo well enough to know that if he knocks on the door, and no one answers, he’ll probably find him by the pond—and that’s exactly where he finds him when he brings Wonwoo his ticket. Wonwoo gives him a look. “I was going to buy one, Soonyoung.”

At Wonwoo’s scolding, Soonyoung shakes his head and wrinkles his nose. “No, you need this ticket. This is the one that tells Seokmin and Yewon you’re special and...not to be stolen from…” he finishes with a grimace. “Do you think we’re terrible,” he laments, even as Wonwoo snickers. 

“No. I mean, if it’s only bad people—“

“ _Only_ bad people! We can spot them from a mile away!”

He laughs again. “If it’s only bad people they probably deserve it.” It makes Soonyoung smile roguishly, which makes Wonwoo clear his throat and look away. He’d called him _special._ “Are you nervous?”

Soonyoung’s looking up into the leaves. “Of course not,” he says, distractedly. He eyes a tree a few feet away and before Wonwoo can react he’s maneuvered himself up into its branches, perching precariously on one of the thicker ones. Wonwoo walks over, looking up at him with his arms crossed as Soonyoung’s legs dangle in front of his face. “I’m never nervous, Wonwoo,” comes his voice—distracting Wonwoo from staring up at his thighs. Slowly, he raises his eyes to meet Soonyoung’s, and finds him smiling serenely down at him. “Climb up,” he says, and Wonwoo snorts. “Come on!”

“I don’t think I can?”

“Nonsense, Wonwoo, you’re a sailor, sailors are strong.”

“Not when they’ve been tending a garden for five years.”

Soonyoung sighs dramatically. “Honestly. _What_ am I going to do with you?” He nudges Wonwoo gently in the shoulder with his boot. “Try. I’ll pull you up if your arms give out.”

“From up there?!” Wonwoo huffs, but he’s already grabbing the first branch to pull himself into the tree.

“You clearly have no concept of how much strength it takes to be an acrobat.” He deftly positions himself until he’s straddling the branch, his legs locked underneath it. As Wonwoo climbs, his strength goes quickly, and Soonyoung has to help him the rest of the way, which he does without so much as wobbling on the branch. “See,” he says brightly, and Wonwoo breathes heavily for a second. “Jeez, you weren’t kidding.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, hugging the trunk of the tree with one arm. “I wasn’t.” The branch they’re on is actually fairly high up, and Wonwoo tries not to look down. He hasn’t done anything even remotely scary in years, and he’s evidently lost his edge. The thought makes him sad—he can’t even climb a _tree_ anymore. It confuses him, the sudden melancholy that takes him over. Why would he feel this way, now, out of nowhere?

To his right, Soonyoung’s still facing him. “You’re not scared, are you,” he says, nearly a whisper. When Wonwoo turns toward him he’s grinning devilishly, and Wonwoo shakes his head in answer. One of Soonyoung’s eyebrows raises, slowly, like he doesn’t believe him. But he doesn’t say anything else about it, just presses on, moving the conversation where he wants it to go. “I can’t wait for you to meet everyone. Or, more accurately,” he says, tilting his head, “I can’t wait for them to meet you.”

Confused, Wonwoo smiles, huffing out a small, airy laugh. “Me? Why?”

Soonyoung looks down, still smiling, then back up to Wonwoo. “Because they’re going to like you, is all.” He purses his lips for a moment. “And, you know. Just because.”

Before Wonwoo can parse that, Soonyoung clears his throat and suddenly Wonwoo’s looking at his boots, as he’s flipped upside down, hanging off the branch with his legs clasped above it holding him up. “Soonyoung—”

“I’m not going to fall!” he calls up to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo cranes his neck, trying to look down at Soonyoung but also not fall out of the tree himself. He looks away quick when he does catch a glimpse, because Soonyoung’s shirt has come untucked and pooled at his shoulders, hanging off of him and exposing his entire torso. Cheeks flushing, Wonwoo looks pointedly down at the pond and Soonyoung shifts around. When he chances a look back, he has (thankfully or regrettably, Wonwoo can’t decide) re-tucked the front of his shirt, at least, and he’s got both his legs on the same side of the branch, and he’s started to swing back and forth.

“Soonyoung, seriously.”

The teasing smile on his face is audible in his voice when he responds. “Wonwoo, _seriously._ ” The next thing Wonwoo knows Soonyoung’s right-side-up again, hanging by his arms, and he pulls himself up quicker than Wonwoo can even fathom. Finally, he’s sitting next to Wonwoo again, looking at him with a soft smile. “I’m supposed to be in town with the others. Rounding up attendees.” His hand on the branch is close to where Wonwoo is bracing himself with his own. He does this a lot—narrating his whole day to Wonwoo, because Wonwoo never has much to say. He seems to understand that Wonwoo can’t be as forthcoming as he can, so Soonyoung doubles down on his own openness and chattiness to make up for it. “But we always do well! People are suckers—especially city folk—and according to last year, especially _these_ city folk. Give them the promise of seeing something weird or exciting and they come running. Not that the show isn’t amazing, and worth it!” he says hurriedly. “It’s just not that hard to sell out. _Because_ we’re amazing. So it was much more important for me to lock down the one attendee I actually care about.”

It’s been so long since Wonwoo had a friend like this, a friend who is more than an acquaintance and who makes a point to get to know him. Who Wonwoo _allows_ to get to know him. Someone who would climb a tree and pull Wonwoo up after him so they could share the view. His heart squeezes in his chest, realizing how much he’s _missed_ it. He doesn’t even know Soonyoung that well yet, but here they are; Wonwoo supposes it’s because he hasn’t met anyone new in so long, but also, Soonyoung is just so _captivating_ —to look at, to listen to, to observe. He’s exciting—and Wonwoo hasn’t had reason to be excited in years. He’s very nearly forgotten what it was like.

  


~ ~ ~

  


Soonyoung was right about the carnival selling out—when Wonwoo arrives there are people everywhere. There are a few troupe members juggling or doing other small tricks to amuse the smaller children or the people in line, but Soonyoung’s nowhere to be seen. Wonwoo does spot Jisoo’s tent, with a line of its own, and finds the tiny speck of familiarity it provides comforting. He is far outside his comfort zone, after all.

He hands his ticket to the smiley boy who’d forced him into Jisoo’s tent last year—Seokmin, according to Soonyoung—who gives him a wry smile. “Enjoy your night,” he says with a quirk of his eyebrow. Very suddenly, Wonwoo realizes Soonyoung has probably told these people about him. It makes his heart beat a little erratically to wonder just how much he’s said—what he’s shared, how he’s described him.

Inside the main tent he sits alone, watching the people file in—Seokmin and a couple of girls act as ushers and now that Wonwoo knows to look, he can see how they shift through the audience, distracting patrons as their hands slip into their pockets unnoticed. He’s watching them work over an elderly couple in fine clothes when he hears his name. 

When he turns, Jihoon and Mingyu are sitting down on either side of him, Jihoon munching on popcorn and Mingyu partially obscured by the enormous amount of cotton candy he’s holding. Wonwoo finds it amusing that they’re here together—knowing them, they’ll pretend it never happened once they’ve returned to their houses. “What are you two doing here? Together?” Wonwoo asks, and Jihoon glares at him immediately.

“We’re very intrigued by the friend who keeps visiting you,” Mingyu chirps, and Wonwoo’s nostrils flare. “When do we get to meet him?”

“And what exactly are you two getting up to in that garden of yours all day?” asks Jihoon with a smirk.

Wonwoo turns away, feeling his cheeks burn. “ _Nothing._ We just talk. We keep each other company. He’s my friend.”

“I bet,” Jihoon says, and Mingyu guffaws through a mouthful of cotton candy.

The lamps in the tent go dim after it has filled with people, and the ringmaster appears to announce the acts—he’s young, probably not much older than Wonwoo. The show itself is more sideshow than circus, unlike any Wonwoo’s seen before; there are contortionists and knife throwers and sword swallowers and all manner of dangerous acts rather than clowns or buffoonery or anything that’s meant to be funny. At one point a tall, petite girl in a tutu juggles five flaming axes, and Jihoon leans over to Wonwoo to announce that he’s fallen in love. (“Don’t let your date hear you say that.” “ _Fuck_ you, Wonwoo.”) As the night wears on it becomes apparent that Soonyoung is going to be in the finale, and as that moment draws nearer, Wonwoo gets more and more anxious to see him. 

And then, there he is.

Two other boys come out with him, but the ringmaster announces him last, and he announces him as the Shooting Star, to thunderous applause from people who must have seen the show last year. Wonwoo determinedly doesn’t look at Jihoon or Mingyu, though they’re both nudging him incessantly, because if he looks he knows his face will give away how he’s fairly sure there’s never been a more accurate moniker for anyone or anything, and he hasn’t even seen the act yet. His costume is black, tight, and shimmering in the spotlight—Wonwoo can see his tattoos faintly through the mesh of the sleeves. His eyes are surrounded in black and silver, painted across his face like a mask, and there might be glitter in his hair, or it might be Wonwoo’s eyes playing tricks on him. It doesn’t matter one way or the other, he supposes, when he’s so bright and gorgeous it practically hurts to look at him. Wonwoo wonders how he’ll have any room to be impressed by the actual performance when he’s ended up so transfixed just from Soonyoung’s existence, generally, as he smiles and waves to the crowd; but of course, he does, because Soonyoung had said it would be amazing, so naturally it is—Soonyoung had said he could fly, and he hadn’t been lying.

The very first trick makes the entire crowd gasp—Soonyoung lets go of his trapeze, and twists in the air for a few long seconds before the other boy catches him at the _last_ possible moment. There’s a net below them, but it still makes Wonwoo’s heart jump into his throat, and it only gets more incredible from there. The other boys have their turn as well, flipping through the air, but neither of them sail as high as Soonyoung, neither of them can manage as many turns in the air as Soonyoung, neither of them leave the audience on the edge of their seats wondering if they’ll really make it back to the platform on the other side of the tent, or if this will be the time they’ll miss or their hand will slip and they’ll go careening toward the ground the way Soonyoung does. As the act goes on, the crowd gets louder and louder as the tricks get more dangerous, more awe-inspiring, until, finally, there’s a drumroll, and Soonyoung stands on the platform and waves again as the ringmaster gushes on about how this death-defying act of absolute madness is guaranteed to make any grown men in attendance scream like little girls—and then four of the other troupe members each take a corner of the net and untie it, letting it fall uselessly to the ground.

Wonwoo thinks, certainly, it must be some kind of large scale sleight of hand, and there’s no way they’d _actually_ let Soonyoung do this without a net or any kind of safety measure—the tent isn’t that big, so he’s not too terribly high, but he’s absolutely high enough that if he falls, well. Whatever’s between him and Wonwoo would like as not be over before it began.

Oh, drat. That’s an awfully presumptuous thought to have, Wonwoo thinks, as he catches it running through his mind.

Anyway. The issue with Wonwoo’s rationalization is that Soonyoung is definitely the kind of person who would do something like this in the name of giving everyone here the scare of their lives and an unbelievable story to tell, so it isn’t actually that hard to believe at all. It is _very_ hard to watch, though he finds himself unable to look away.

Soonyoung swings, and he swings, the momentum he’s steadily gaining sending him higher and higher, and one of the other boys dangles upside down and swings as well, waiting to catch him. When he launches off the trapeze this time he spins so fast Wonwoo’s eyes can’t keep up, seemingly suspended in mid-air as he does, unaffected by gravity until the other acrobat swings toward him and reaches out—the entire tent is dead silent, every person holding their breath until finally Soonyoung reaches out as well and grabs, holding firmly to the other boy’s forearms. Instantly the crowd erupts into cheers and applause, and Soonyoung lifts himself up and over, until he’s standing on the bar as it swings back to the platform, where both boys dismount. Soonyoung’s breathing just a bit heavily, and beaming uncontrollably, and the three of them climb down the ladder to the center of the tent where they take their bows. The entire troupe appears, and the crowd keeps cheering, but it’s so, so clear that while the show is good, and the performers are talented: Soonyoung is _it._

After the show, Wonwoo hangs back in the tent, not knowing what to do, exactly. Soonyoung had told him to visit, but he’s not sure where he’s supposed to go. Mingyu and Jihoon wait with him until the usher girl finds him and says “Come along dear, I’ve been sent to retrieve you,” and pulls him away from them as they both wave bemusedly. She introduces herself as Yewon and leads him behind the main tent, through the field they’re set up in to a group of smaller tents which must be their camp. As they draw near, he sees Soonyoung come out of a tent, in his normal clothes now, and breaks off from Yewon as if he’s in a trance, beelining straight for him. 

Soonyoung notices him as he walks, and Wonwoo watches a smile spread across his face. “Hi,” Wonwoo says, stopping in front of him. 

Fighting to keep his smile under control, Soonyoung crosses his arms. “I see you made it.”

Wonwoo finds himself sighing out a kind of relieved laugh, seeing Soonyoung back on solid ground. “That was so _fucking_ scary, S—“

He cuts himself off when Soonyoung throws his arms around his neck, _squealing._

“I’m so happy you came!” he exclaims, bouncing up and down on his toes. The hug is overly hot and sweaty, but Wonwoo wraps his arms around Soonyoung’s waist and smiles.

“Of course,” he says, “I told you I would, didn’t I?” Loosening his hold on Soonyoung’s waist, he lets his hands settle lightly there. Soonyoung gives him one final squeeze and lets go, standing back a pace, positively glowing. 

The rest of the troupe is loud around them, cheering for their successful show, but Soonyoung just smiles quietly at him. “Anyway. I interrupted you.” He’s still got his makeup on, his dark brown hair framing it prettily, and Wonwoo knows he’s staring as he lets Soonyoung take his hand and lead him to sit down by the fire. “You were saying?”

Wonwoo clears his throat. “Just how scary it was.”

“How do you think we sell tickets?” Soonyoung asks with a grin, and Wonwoo smiles back, looking around to make sure they’re not being too carefully observed by the other performers milling around. He leans in close, right next to Soonyoung’s ear. 

“You were really amazing.”

Soonyoung’s smile gets even wider and he flushes pink before he looks up again. “It was nothing.”

As the rest of the troupe gets changed they gather around the fire with drinks and smokes in hand, celebrating and dancing. A few of them make their way to Soonyoung and Wonwoo so they can meet him; the other acrobats, Minghao and Chan; the ringmaster, Seungcheol; the girl who’d juggled the axes, Sojin; the girl who’d thrown the knives, Haebin, and the girl who’d been pinned to the spinning target, Kyungwon; what feels like hundreds more Wonwoo can’t keep track of. Jisoo raises his glass to him from the other side of the camp, cryptically, and Wonwoo rolls his eyes, but smiles back at him. Several other performers come to talk to Soonyoung in a language Wonwoo doesn’t understand but feels like he should, though he can’t no matter how he tries to wrap his mind around the syllables. Those ones greet him, and then switch back to the other language and glance slyly at Wonwoo, so clearly talking about him. Soonyoung’s ears turn red and he bats them away.

“What language is that?” Wonwoo asks, and Soonyoung’s ears turn redder and he grins, embarrassed. 

“It’s carnival cant. Nowhere near as complicated as it seems.”

“Are they talking about me?” he asks with a smirk. 

Instead of answering, Soonyoung just bounces to his feet, and pulls Wonwoo to his after him. He _keeps_ touching Wonwoo’s hands, and Wonwoo is starting to go a bit delirious from it. Tugging at Wonwoo’s wrists, he walks backwards away from the throng of performers. “Let’s go somewhere else,” he says, shaking his head, and how can Wonwoo refuse?

He leads Wonwoo away, where it’s dark and quiet, but the moon is still bright enough to see. They arrive at a cluster of carts at the edge of a wood, and Wonwoo hears something move and jumps—“It’s just the horses,” Soonyoung whispers, pointing over Wonwoo’s shoulder. “See?” Sure enough there’s a makeshift gated canopy built and six or seven horses tethered underneath it. “I take care of them. I’ll have to introduce you.” Soonyoung pulls Wonwoo toward the carts, though, rummaging through a box in one until he finds a bottle, then hopping over to a more empty one, where Wonwoo watches him sit, and then flop onto his back. “Come on, then!” comes his voice, and Wonwoo follows him, laying down next to him. Wonwoo can _feel_ the energy radiating off him, and the heat, though he thinks maybe one of those is imagined. 

Soonyoung pushes himself up on his elbows for a moment so he can take a drink, then offers the bottle to Wonwoo who does the same. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, so Wonwoo takes it upon himself to start talking. “How long have you been doing this?”

They both keep their eyes trained on the night sky as they talk. “Nine years?” Soonyoung answers, questioning himself. “No, eight. I think eight.”

“Where are you from?”

“I’m from the carnival.”

Wonwoo huffs out a laugh. “Where were you _born._ ”

“I was born in the carnival.”

“You’re impossible.” 

“Would I lie to you, Wonwoo?” he says, and takes another drink before laying back down. He’s closer to Wonwoo this time. “I don’t know where I was born. I grew up in an orphanage a long way from here.” 

Knowing the dull pain of having to talk about things that aren’t happy, Wonwoo makes a face. “I’m sorry.” 

Soonyoung, though, turns onto his stomach, propping his chin up on his elbows so he can see Wonwoo. “You don’t have to be.” He looks down, but it’s not out of unease, or unhappiness. “I left and came to the circus and now, you know...I have a family. I’m doing something exciting and fun. I’m good. I’m _great._ ” 

It’s amazing how sure he is of it, how much he seems to truly, truly mean it. Wonwoo can’t fathom it. “Don’t you ever wish things were different?” 

He shakes his head, smiling down at him. “Never.” Then he squints, curiously. “Do you?” 

“I don’t know.” He’s never really thought about it. 

Now, though, he certainly is. And he can’t quite tell how he feels. 

“Stop brooding,” Soonyoung murmurs, poking him in the shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make you go all pensive.” 

So Wonwoo smiles, and focuses on Soonyoung instead: his hair still sparkling in the moonlight, his soft, warm voice as he moves on to some other topic. Wonwoo listens intently as the night goes on, even as the celebration across the field dies down and the fire goes out. When they’ve drunk most of the bottle, they’re leaning against stacks of boxes and each other, Soonyoung’s head lolling onto Wonwoo’s shoulder. He’s still trying to relay some fantastical story to Wonwoo, though his words are slurring and he’s repeating himself and mumbling through most of it. Wonwoo blinks slowly and sleepily, only vaguely aware of Soonyoung’s warm weight against him, and thinks how he misses his bed, but also how he hasn’t felt this way—however it is he’s feeling—in a long time, before he drifts off to sleep.

When he wakes, it’s to the voice of Chan, teasing and loud. “Wake up, lovebirds. We need the cart.” Wonwoo opens his eyes, taking in the fresh face of Chan, the blanket of fog covering the field, and the wrinkled up state of his clothes. Soonyoung sits up after a moment, tongue poking out to lick his lips, his eyes sleep-swollen as he turns his head back and forth. His makeup, which he’d never taken off the night before, is smudged on the side of his face that had ended up resting on Wonwoo’s shoulder. His eyes land there, and he clears his throat. 

“Oh no,” he croaks groggily. “I’ve ruined your shirt.” 

Wonwoo peers down, frowning, seeing the swath of silver and black that’s been rubbed off there. He laughs. “I think it’ll be alright,” Wonwoo says, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. 

As they clamber unsteadily out of the cart, Wonwoo rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward and giddy and embarrassed all at once. “Well. I’m...going to go on, I guess?” 

Stretching, Soonyoung smiles, looking a bit like a satisfied and well-rested kitten. “Alright. Want me to walk you?”

“No, no, that’s fine.”

“Suit yourself...I’ll see you, though?”

“Unless you’re planning to _stop_ dropping by unannounced.”

Soonyoung smiles, wide. “Never, darling.” He takes a step forward, and his face is close to Wonwoo’s suddenly, as though he might kiss Wonwoo’s cheek—but Wonwoo feels him reach behind his ear and when he jumps back, he’s holding a sunflower, offering it out to him with his eyebrows raised. Wonwoo takes it, his lips quirking up in confusion, and Soonyoung’s face falls. “I don’t—I don’t know why I’m giving _you_ flowers. As if you need them. It was the only trick I had ready,” he says, looking down.

But Wonwoo doesn’t care, Wonwoo barely even hears what he said, Wonwoo’s smiling from ear to ear and thinks this is the very best flower he’s ever seen.

  


~ ~ ~

  


Wonwoo becomes a staple at the carnival camp the same way Soonyoung becomes a staple in Wonwoo’s garden: easily, softly, quicker than they have any right to. Most days, when neither of them have any other business or engagements, are spent lounging under the tree by the pond (or in it, though Wonwoo usually stays on the ground.) Wonwoo will spread out a blanket and lean up against the trunk and Soonyoung will lean on his shoulder, or lay on his back and gaze up at him, or even lay his head in his lap. It feels so new to him, this level of warmth and affection and _closeness,_ though he’s had it before.

Although, has he really? Has it ever been like this before? Wonwoo isn’t sure. So much of the memory of his time at sea—the time he spent close to people—has been blurred over the years that have gone by. Regardless, however: he’s sure he’s never had anyone like Soonyoung in his life before, and he’s sure whatever it is that’s between them is only getting stronger as time goes by.

(It feels less presumptuous to think, now.)

After another couple of weeks of getting to know the carnival performers, they’ve mostly stopped with the side comments to Soonyoung in carnival cant—to Wonwoo’s face, anyway. Still, there’s one every now and then, so Wonwoo asks again one day as he and Soonyoung are watching Chan and Minghao rehearse. 

“What do they say about me?” he asks, and Soonyoung gives him a _look._ “I know they talk about me! I just want to know what they say!”

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung starts. He’s in the middle of mending a tear in his costume, holding the needle in his mouth before sticking it into the fabric for safekeeping so he can talk. “They don’t say anything bad. It’s just…” He pauses and smiles. “I can’t just go around telling you what they say in our secret language. It’s written in the Carnival _Code,_ Wonwoo.” He leans in close, whispering. “It’s punishable by _death._ ”

Wonwoo laughs out loud. “You’re so full of shit.”

It makes Soonyoung shove at his shoulder. “You’re getting better at telling,” he says, not without a hint of pride. 

Finally. He’d spent most of the beginning of their friendship just wondering, because even the most unbelievable things sound convincing coming out of Soonyoung’s mouth. 

“Anyway, what do those neighbors of yours say about _me?”_ Soonyoung retorts, going back to sewing. He asks it casually, but Wonwoo thinks he’s a bit more concerned with it than he’s letting on. “The tall one waves at me when I come by. The little one...just glares, kind of.”

That sounds about right. “To be fair, Jihoon glares at me too, and he likes me. I think.”

Soonyoung pulls a thread taut and snorts. “So what have they said? You can tell me. Circus trash, dirty carnie...I’ve heard it all.”

Wonwoo frowns. “They aren’t like that.”

As he looks up, Soonyoung’s face softens into a small smile. “No. I should have known they wouldn’t be, if you’re friends with them. I’m sorry.”

“Do people say that stuff to you a lot?”

“Oh, you know. Sometimes.” When Wonwoo doesn’t respond, Soonyoung looks back to him. “Don’t you worry about that, Jeon Wonwoo. I handle it just fine. Eight years, remember? Or...nine. Either way.” Wonwoo nods, but he still hates the thought of it, and it must show on his face, because Soonyoung sighs, pausing his work and looking straight ahead. “When they aren’t asking things that are none of their business, they’re asking where I found such a pretty face and if I’ve convinced you to join up yet.” He raises his eyebrows at Wonwoo like he’s daring him to say another word.

Bashfully, Wonwoo grins before looking back to where Chan’s hanging upside down, and Minghao’s hanging off of him. “Mingyu wants to meet you. Jihoon...asks things that are none of his business.”

He sneaks a glance toward Soonyoung and he’s beaming down at his stitching. Neither say anything more for awhile.

Then there’s the day Soonyoung comes bounding up the path to Wonwoo’s house and through the door with a nasty, bloody scrape under his chin. “I fell,” he explains brightly when he sees Wonwoo’s wide eyes and worried expression. When Wonwoo opens his mouth, he continues, cutting him off: “I’m _fine._ I fell practicing on the bars, it wasn’t high up, my hand slipped. It’s a hazard of the trade.”

Wonwoo sighs, eyeing it warily. He’s used to Soonyoung sporting bruises and small cuts, but this looks so much worse. “Can I fix it up for you, at least?”

Soonyoung blinks. “Fix it up?”

“...Bandage it? Clean it?”

“Oh,” Soonyoung says quietly after blinking at Wonwoo for a moment, smiling a little. “You don’t have to worry about that. Honest.”

He can be so stubborn. Maybe he’s used to these kinds of injuries, but it looks so painful, and who knows if he even let Jisoo (who Wonwoo’s learned handles the entire troupe’s medical needs) look at it. In any case, it’s clear from the droplets of blood staining the front of his shirt that it’s probably worse than he wants to let on. Wonwoo raises one eyebrow. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

Soonyoung simpers a little. “It’ll still hurt with a bandage on.” Wonwoo sighs, and turns to one of his cupboards—he has a first aid kit somewhere, he’s sure. As he searches, Soonyoung starts talking again. “Anyway, I’ve had worse. And we usually save the bandages for when there’s bone sticking out.” Wonwoo makes a noise of disapproval. “We used to have this ballerina with us—she went by Pinky, and she had this act where she’d dance across the highwire, and one day she fell. We hadn’t made much money yet, so our net was old and worn out, and she went right through it. _Splat!”_ he shouts, clapping his hands together and making Wonwoo jump. He turns to Soonyoung and glowers at his satisfied smirk for a moment before returning to his cabinets. “She was practically a pile of guts, so we had to rush her to a hospital. And do you know what they said?”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes and smiles in spite of himself. “What did they say?”

“They said she broke every bone in her body...except...her pinky.”

Unable to help it, Wonwoo snorts. “That isn’t true,” he says simply, just as he finds his first aid kit, and turns. 

The sight that greets him shouldn’t affect him as much as it does—Soonyoung, bloodied at his kitchen table, laughing at his own stupid joke as he retorts—”Parts of it are.” Something about it all just...makes Wonwoo’s breath catch. He can barely remember what it’s like to want something, but he’s pretty sure it was like this: this thing he’s feeling, watching Soonyoung brighten his entire house. It almost makes him sad, almost _pains_ him.

He takes a breath, shakes himself out, and pulls his chair around to sit right across from Soonyoung’s. “Have you ever been hurt that badly?” he asks, trying to mask the very real concern he feels.

“Me?” Soonyoung says, feigning disbelief. “Of course not, Wonwoo. I’m like a cat...always land on my feet.” Wonwoo flares his nostrils and gives him a pointedly blank look. “Almost always.”

Soonyoung whines about it, but he lets Wonwoo clean and bandage his chin. “Now I shall look absolutely ridiculous,” he laments, pouting and slumping onto the surface of the table. 

“It would take a lot more than a bandage to make you look ridiculous, Soonyoung.”

His head pops up. “What do you mean?” he asks with a sly grin. 

Drat. “I just mean...I mean, you know,” Wonwoo finishes unimpressively. 

In response, Soonyoung crows with laughter and sits up again, kicking at Wonwoo’s feet with his own. “No I don’t! I don’t know, what do you mean Wonwoo?”

“Nothing, I didn’t mean anything, _Soonyoung,_ ” Wonwoo exclaims back, pushing Soonyoung’s hands away as he starts to poke him repeatedly. 

Suddenly, Soonyoung pulls away, sitting up straight and prim. “Alright then. But I’ll get it out of you eventually.” He softens as he looks at Wonwoo. Hesitantly, he takes one of Wonwoo’s hands in both of his own, and the cold metal of the rings he wears makes Wonwoo shiver. “Sorry for whining. I’ve never had anyone to _worry_ about me before.”

Wonwoo looks down, embarrassed. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

A moment passes, and then Soonyoung moves, and then his lips are on Wonwoo’s cheek. “I like you better than almost anyone, Jeon Wonwoo,” he whispers before settling back into his chair. He keeps one of his hands clasped around Wonwoo’s, and Wonwoo feels that feeling from earlier envelop his whole body. Less sad, this time. More hopeful.

The most palpable shift comes one night when Soonyoung has enlisted Wonwoo to help feed the horses (Buttercup, Peanut, Commodore, Pinky [named after the tightrope-walking ballerina, naturally] Mulberry, Baby, and Lucky Fourteen—Wonwoo knows them all by name and personality by this point.) He notices the handle of Soonyoung’s dagger glinting in the moonlight and is struck with curiosity. “Why do you carry this,” he asks, tapping one finger against it. 

“In case I need it,” he says matter-of-factly. 

Wonwoo runs his finger along the leather sheath. “Have you had to use it much?” 

With a smirk, Soonyoung glances sidelong at Wonwoo. “I used it on the person I stole it from.” Then he gets this look in his eyes, unsheathing the dagger quickly and crowding Wonwoo up against the gate they’ve put up. He holds the dagger to Wonwoo’s collarbone, not touching, still an inch away—but only just. “Someone who thought he was entitled to a piece of me. So I had to take a piece of him first.” Wonwoo is fairly sure he’s stopped breathing, and he doesn’t blink, doesn’t move. “You aren’t scared?” Soonyoung breathes, and Wonwoo shakes his head slowly. Soonyoung’s eyes drop for a moment, uncertain, just before he presses closer. “What about now,” he murmurs, their mouths a breath away, and barely, just _barely_ lets the blade of the knife graze the skin at the base of Wonwoo’s throat. Wonwoo shudders, any answer he might have had leaving him swiftly. He lets his eyes roam over Soonyoung’s face, taking in every scar and freckle, every smirking twitch of his lips. He can feel Soonyoung’s breath. They stay that way for just a moment before one of the horses (Mulberry) whinnies, and Soonyoung grins, and _giggles,_ sheathing the knife and turning his attention to the feeding troughs once more, as if nothing had happened. A shaky breath slips out of Wonwoo’s mouth, and he hopes it’s unnoticeable, but he doubts it. 

When he goes to bed that night he thinks about his sailing days—boys he’d met and stumbled into dark rooms at seedy inns with—times he and Jeonghan had stumbled back to their cabin and fallen into bed together—all leading up to the countless times he’d come home alone since. He thinks maybe he’s lonely. He hasn’t thought about it before (he can’t figure out why he wouldn’t have thought about it, but he hasn’t,) and it’s just that, well...it’s been a long time since he was that close to another boy, let alone a boy as beautiful as Soonyoung. And Soonyoung is so, so beautiful. 

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to fall asleep, his thoughts and imagination turning to Soonyoung and keeping him very much awake. 

After that shift, finally, comes the realization: full and unrelenting. Wonwoo accompanies the troupe to the town square where they’re promoting and busking. Soon they’ll move their camp closer to the next town over, so the next week will be something of a blowout from Wonwoo’s home city. He’s weaving through the crowd, pushing flyers into people’s hands (which he’d never have done a month ago, and he’d certainly never have let anyone rub rouge onto his cheeks and glitter onto his eyelids a month ago, but Soonyoung had held his face in his hands and beamed and giggled as he did it, so here he is,) and when he’s gone through his stack he stops a few feet away from where Soonyoung stands to watch him work. 

He’s surrounded by a gaggle of children, all gathered around him and hanging on his every word as he recounts an extravagant story about a princess who gets kidnapped by a dragon and slays it. He tells it so physically, embodying each character completely, and eventually he performs a fire-breathing trick, flames shooting from his mouth and into the air. The children scream and jump and clap when he’s finished, and Soonyoung takes a bow. His eyes find Wonwoo and he smiles, red-cheeked and panting from the exertion of his lively storytelling. Looking back at him, Wonwoo thinks, suddenly and simply, _oh, he’s so, so perfect. I’m dying to be his._ It isn’t like what he’d felt the other night, physical and hot, and it isn’t quite like how he’d felt looking at him in his kitchen either, wanting but strangely sad. And it certainly isn’t anything he’s felt since—well, since he stopped sailing, he supposes. This doesn’t feel confusing, it doesn’t feel uncertain, it doesn’t feel...dull, or vague, or dampened, like so much of what he’s felt in the past few years. He just _realizes:_ how close they’ve gotten, how necessary Soonyoung has become to him, how Soonyoung reminds him of how he used to be, makes him realize how much he’s changed. Soonyoung is kind, and he’s passionate, and he seems to understand Wonwoo, or seems to _want_ to understand him, and he’s stunning to behold and experience, and being his friend makes Wonwoo feel as though he could walk through fire and withstand the heat. Now, he’s imagining how much _more_ it would be to belong to Soonyoung, for them to belong to each other, and the way it makes his stomach leap into his throat gives Wonwoo a strange clarity he hasn’t had in years: he looks at Soonyoung and he _knows_ Soonyoung’s heart is one that he needs alongside his own. 

Wonwoo’s still looking at him, dazed and dizzy and reeling, when he makes his way over to him, slightly out of breath. “ _You’ve_ got a face like you just realized something,” Soonyoung says, quirking an eyebrow. Too smart for his own good, and certainly too smart for Wonwoo’s. 

“I guess I probably do,” Wonwoo responds. 

Soonyoung gives him a small, curious smile, before silently taking his hand and leading him over to where some of the rest of the troupe is performing a rowdy song for the townspeople. Wonwoo lets him, relishing the feeling of Soonyoung’s hand in his own. 

  


~ ~ ~

  


“Have you ever had your cards read?” 

Wonwoo looks down at Soonyoung. “No?” 

They’re sat in the shadow being cast by Soonyoung’s tent, hidden from the sun and from most of the rest of the carnival. Wonwoo had been reading—a book Haebin had lent him, and he’d been reading it out loud, with Soonyoung’s head resting in his lap—when Soonyoung interrupted him. 

Grinning, Soonyoung sits up. “You have to! Come on, Hansol’s around somewhere and he’s getting really good.” He’s watching Wonwoo with bright, excited eyes, waiting for a reaction. Resigned, Wonwoo sighs—he knows he’s not going to be saying no to Soonyoung. When Soonyoung clambers to his feet, he waits for Wonwoo to stand as well and then takes his hand, leading him through the camp. Though it’s been a while now, and everyone is used to seeing them together, Wonwoo still isn’t quite accustomed to the fond stares the two of them get at times like these. He imagines he must look awfully like a lovesick puppy, following Soonyoung around—but he does _feel_ like a bit of a lovesick puppy, so he supposes he can hardly complain, and instead just grins back at whoever leers or wolf whistles or makes kissy faces at them as they move through the camp together. It’s an honor, after all, to get to do anything _together_ with Soonyoung. 

They find Hansol with Seungkwan, and Soonyoung just sits down next to them without asking. Wonwoo has gotten the feeling that that’s just how things are done here—Soonyoung has said a thousand times that a circus is a family, and maybe this is part of it. Neither of them protest, so Soonyoung folds his legs beneath him and addresses Hansol. “We’d like a reading, please.” 

Without a word, Hansol pulls out a small pouch, removing his cards from within. He looks between the two of them with a smirk. “Who’s first?” 

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says, before Wonwoo has a chance to say anything. “He’s never had one.” 

“Alright then. Wonwoo, shuffle these until it feels right.” 

Wonwoo takes the cards skeptically, but does as he’s told, shuffling the cards and cutting the deck a few times until finally he stops. He looks up, from Hansol to Soonyoung to Seungkwan, waiting for further instructions. 

Soonyoung’s leaning forward excitedly. “Draw one!” he says, before glancing at Hansol. “Sorry. Proceed.” 

With a snort, Hansol meets Wonwoo’s eyes. “Draw one,” he echoes. 

“Just draw one? That’s it?” 

Shrugging, Hansol sits up a little straighter. “If you have specific answers you want, you can think about that...the questions you have, you know, and that’ll give you a baseline of where to start with interpreting what you get.” 

Does he have questions? Wonwoo considers, cocking his head to the side and squinting into the sky. He understands his life pretty well, he’d say, and he doesn’t really know what he’s going to be _interpreting,_ so he isn’t sure what kind of questions he’s supposed to be asking. 

There’s a poke at his side, and then there’s Soonyoung’s voice in his ear. “You don’t have to think that hard,” it says, smile evident in the lilt of his words. When Wonwoo turns toward the voice, Soonyoung is _so_ close, practically resting his chin on Wonwoo’s shoulder, and for a moment Wonwoo feels awfully exposed. Being this close to Soonyoung in such close proximity to other people isn’t quite a _new_ feeling anymore, but it’s uneasy for a moment as he meets Soonyoung’s eyes. However, Soonyoung’s smiling, and Hansol and Seungkwan don’t seem to think anything of it—or, at the very least, they keep their reactions silent. Soonyoung raises his eyebrows once in encouragement, and nudges at Wonwoo’s side again, and Wonwoo lets out a sigh as the uneasiness slips away. 

So he turns, and he draws a card. It’s covered in symbols, and in the center is a skull—it’s almost like a skull and crossbones, but instead of bones below the skull, there’s a scythe and an arrow. 

“This does not seem like a promising start,” he says with a scowl. 

Hansol and Soonyoung giggle, and Seungkwan grins knowingly. “That was my reaction too, at first,” he says. Wonwoo blinks. He looks over to Soonyoung, who opens his mouth, but shrinks back a little and looks sheepishly toward Hansol. 

“Death isn’t a bad card. It just means change, generally,” Hansol says. “Transition and starting over. And it can refer to a lot of different things. Have you been feeling stagnant?” 

A rock drops into Wonwoo’s stomach. “I...I don’t know,” he says, knowing how unconvincing he must sound. He glances at Soonyoung, whose face, still looking at Wonwoo, has shifted from expectancy to contemplation. “Maybe.” 

“Next card, then,” Hansol instructs, and Wonwoo turns over another. “Temperance—but it’s upside-down, see, and that changes the meaning. Be careful of anything that’s been seeming...weird, or out of place, or off. It might be time for—well—” He taps one finger on the Death card. “Change,” he finishes with a grin. Wonwoo bites his lip, remembering the feeling he’d gotten when he’d sat with Soonyoung in the tree, the one he’d gotten when Soonyoung asked him if he ever wished things were different, the shift he’s felt in his emotions ever since he met Soonyoung. “Last one, go on.” 

Wonwoo takes a breath to steady himself this time before taking his last card—only to have it knocked out of him again as Seungkwan exclaims, “Oh, that’s _precious,_ ” and Soonyoung coughs, loudly, because he’s just pulled a card with a brilliant white star in the center. 

Clearing his throat and laughing a bit, Hansol proceeds. “Well,” he says, and starts laughing again. Wonwoo’s torn between wanting the ground to swallow him whole, and wanting to kiss Soonyoung then and there. He settles for smiling, knowingly, if a little sheepishly. 

“So. The Star,” Hansol begins again. He raises one eyebrow and glances shiftily toward Soonyoung. “Significant.” By now, Seungkwan has collapsed onto the ground in laughter. When Wonwoo looks at Soonyoung again, he’s smiling a little apologetically—but he’s smiling, so Wonwoo returns it. “This one is about change too—but more the settling down part _after_ a change. Alongside the rest of your reading...I’d say you’re in for some very interesting personal developments.” 

That’s...foreboding. They’d said Death wasn’t a bad card, but all this apparent impending _change_ makes Wonwoo’s stomach twist. 

But, that’s strange in itself, because hadn’t Wonwoo always been the one assuring Jeonghan that change wasn’t bad? When did his perspective shift this much? He shakes his head, and sighs. “So what am I meant to do with all of this?” 

Hansol takes the cards and places them back in the deck. “I would say...think about how things are, and if the way your life is going feels right to you—not comfortable, but _right._ And pay attention to any changes that pop up, and any gut feelings you have.” 

“Hm,” Wonwoo says, and looks to Soonyoung for—he doesn’t know what. He gets a reassuring nod, though, and a shy smile, and he just...wants to kiss him again. They look at each other until Hansol whistles, and Soonyoung’s head turns, making his bell jingle. His ears are red at the tips. Wonwoo sighs, and tries not to lament how smitten he is. 

“You still want yours read, Soonie?” 

He nods enthusiastically. “Yes please,” he says, and then turns toward Wonwoo. “It shouldn’t take long. I know what everything means.” He shuffles the deck for a short while, stops, and shuffles it a bit more, before pulling his first card—“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake,” he says, voice indignant although he’s positively beaming. It’s the Lovers, and Wonwoo thinks he might pass out. “ _Ahem._ Moving on.” 

Hansol addresses Wonwoo when Soonyoung flips his next card. “Reversed Wheel of Fortune.” 

“Bad luck,” Soonyoung murmurs. 

“Not necessarily,” Hansol assures him. 

It doesn’t appear to comfort Soonyoung, though, and he chews on the inside of his cheek as he turns over his last card. He sighs, hard, at the depiction of a collapsing tower. “Are you fucking _seeing_ this, Hansol?!” 

In response, Hansol just lowers his eyebrows and wrinkles up his nose. 

“What does it mean,” Wonwoo asks, leaning in toward Soonyoung. 

There’s a second or two of ominous silence, and then he responds. “It’s the Tower. It means chaos and turmoil and this has to be—what, Hansol, the seventh? _Eighth_ time it’s turned up in the past few _months_ for me?” He puts the card down and eyes it suspiciously, wringing his hands. “Never paired with the Wheel, though. That’s...” He trails off and presses his lips together, eyebrows drawn up in concern, looking a bit distraught. 

“Well—you know, it might not mean anything, Soonyoung. Or it, it could be something completely removed from whatever you’re thinking. Right, Hansol?” Wonwoo looks to him for support, and gives him an imploring look when he doesn’t say anything. 

“Of course,” he affirms, finally, but it’s too late, and Soonyoung is quiet and distant when they make their way back toward his tent. 

Wonwoo hates seeing him like this, so he stops in his tracks. “Let’s go into town. Get something to eat.” Soonyoung turns toward him, lower lip stuck out. “Maybe a drink.” 

At that, Soonyoung chuckles. “I probably shouldn’t drink mere _hours_ before I have to perform death defying acts of acrobatics,” he says, scuffing one boot in the grass. 

“Just food, then,” Wonwoo says, taking both Soonyoung’s hands, and Soonyoung squints at him for a moment before he nods. 

It’s still quiet as they walk, but it’s comfortable this time, and Soonyoung hooks one of his arms through Wonwoo’s easily. They’re almost out of the camp when he speaks. “I can’t fucking believe you pulled the Star,” he mumbles. 

Wonwoo laughs, out loud, and looks sidelong at Soonyoung. “I can.” Soonyoung’s eyes widen just a bit, his smile turning incredulous. He looks all around them, and then, lightning fast, leans up to place a kiss on Wonwoo’s cheek. Though it’s over as fast as it began, Wonwoo can tell it’s different from the last time he’d done it, in Wonwoo’s kitchen. The quickness of this kiss, the way Soonyoung walks staring straight at the ground once he’s done it feels almost like—like Soonyoung thinks it reveals too much, like it makes him nervous. Ridiculous, Wonwoo thinks, since he so clearly has no reason to be. But he doesn’t want Soonyoung to feel uncomfortable, so he leaves it alone, and Soonyoung is back to himself by the time they’ve ordered their food. 

Wonwoo listens to him speak, as he usually does—the ridiculous stories, the heartfelt anecdotes about the people from the carnival, the retellings of his seemingly endless accomplishments—and as he watches Soonyoung’s lips move, he lets himself feel just how fierce the urge to kiss him has grown. 

It’s becoming damn near impossible to resist. 

Back at camp, after the show, they gather around the bonfire with the others. Seokmin starts shouting, because evidently he’d discovered Seungkwan could sing, and now he’s wheedling him to show off—eventually enough of them join in that Wonwoo almost thinks it’s unfair, but Seungkwan doesn’t look embarrassed or upset, he’s just beaming, and seems to be...well, waiting for the troupe to tire themselves out of begging. When they have, he sings. It’s a love song, and terribly sad, Seungkwan’s clear voice only serving to make it even more heart-wrenching. Beside him, Wonwoo feels Soonyoung shrink into himself a bit, and turns to look at him. His attention is completely on Seungkwan, his mouth open a bit as he listens, and Wonwoo wonders if Seungkwan realizes how special it is to have Soonyoung watch him so carefully, and be so enraptured by him that he can’t look away. 

On a whim, Wonwoo takes one of his hands and slides his fingers into the spaces between Soonyoung’s. It makes him jump, startling him out of his reverie, and when he looks at Wonwoo there are tears in his eyes. Wonwoo shakes his head as his brow furrows in worry. “What, what is it?” he asks softly, not wanting to interrupt the song but concerned all the same. Miraculously, though, he watches Soonyoung’s face change, from devastatingly sad, to sheepish, to smiling. 

“It’s nothing,” he says as he squeezes Wonwoo’s hand. “Just the song, I promise.” 

Haebin leans in from behind them, her head appearing between theirs. “Soonie’s just tenderhearted. Cries at everything, he does.” She pats his head, ruffles his hair. “Our sweet little duckling.” She sits back again, and Soonyoung’s smiling at the ground, his cheeks pink. 

Wonwoo scooches closer to him, closing the gap so no one else can disturb them. “Don’t worry, shooting star,” he whispers in Soonyoung’s ear. “You can cry if you want.” 

Bashfully, Soonyoung laughs, and lets Wonwoo hook an arm around his waist. He moves to wipe at the tear tracks shining on his face with his sleeves, but Wonwoo is struck quickly with the notion that he can’t let him do that—no one he cares about this much should be left to dry their tears on their own. So he fishes in his vest pocket for his handkerchief and offers it to Soonyoung, who stares for a moment before accepting it. In those seconds between, Wonwoo watches his ears go red, too red to be from the heat or the light of the fire, and he wishes they were alone, because he wants to kiss him so, _so_ badly. 

But, for now, since they aren’t alone, Soonyoung’s weight against him is enough; his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder and his small hand clasped in Wonwoo’s are enough. 

...Almost enough, anyway, because Wonwoo is rapidly becoming re-familiarized with how much longing and joy can make you _ache._

  


~ ~ ~

  


The carnival has a week off in the middle of June, so the performers can return home if they have one, or just rest if they don’t, and so they can prepare to move further up the coast. (Soonyoung had assured him it would only be a half hour on horseback, and that Wonwoo couldn’t get rid of him that easily, he’d still come around every day.) 

“I suppose I shall have to stay in my tent all alone this week, bored out of my mind,” he says, hammy and overdramatic. 

Wonwoo doesn’t even think before he answers. “Stay with me then,” he says easily, and Soonyoung presses his lips together to stifle his smile. 

“Okay.” 

The first night Soonyoung spends, they sit down by the pond together, Wonwoo leaning against their tree, Soonyoung leaning against Wonwoo. It’s been strangely quiet—on Wonwoo’s end, he’s feeling just a bit overwhelmed by the fact that Soonyoung’s going to be sleeping in his house, and excited at the prospect of saying goodnight instead of goodbye at the end of the night. He isn’t sure what has Soonyoung so silent until he finally does speak. 

“Wonwoo,” he says, his voice quiet, as though he thinks it will disturb the stillness of the water if he’s too loud. “What do you think your tarot reading meant?” 

Wonwoo thinks. “Well...you know I don’t understand it very well. But, all that about change and re-evaluation and—what exactly was the Star, again?” he asks, looking down at Soonyoung. 

“Renewal,” he murmurs in answer, watching him closely, seemingly transfixed. Wonwoo shivers at his expression, the sensation of Soonyoung’s attention leaving him tingly. 

“Renewal. Right.” He stretches his legs out in front of him. “It all seems to connect, doesn’t it?” Soonyoung makes a small, affirming noise. “I’m not sure exactly what it means, and...really, I’m not sure how much stock I put in it. But I’m trying to keep my eye out, I suppose. It can’t hurt.” He looks at Soonyoung again, and he’s grinning. “What about yours?” 

The smile fades from Soonyoung’s face and he sighs, heavily. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “I mean, I suppose...I suppose the, um, the Lovers I have some idea about.” Wonwoo laughs silently as Soonyoung pointedly refuses to look at him. “But that damned Tower. I just can’t figure it out.” 

Wonwoo shifts until he can put his arm around Soonyoung’s shoulders. “It really worries you, huh?” 

A nod. “I know you think it’s hocus pocus,” Soonyoung says, “and it’s not as though I think it tells the future, definitively, without a doubt. But it gives you perspective—things to look for—ways to grow.” He pulls a stray thread from Wonwoo’s trousers. “And I don’t like that I can’t figure it out. I don’t like that it _keeps_ turning up. It makes me feel like something is coming. Something big, maybe something I can’t prepare for.” 

“Maybe it doesn’t matter how prepared you are as much as it matters how you deal with it if it comes?” 

Soonyoung nods absently. “Maybe.” He huffs out a small laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just too superstitious. Too tenderhearted.” 

“I don’t think either of those are bad. They make you who you are.” Soonyoung gently nudges him in the side, making him squirm. “And if it helps, I’m starting to think it’s not completely hocus pocus.” 

Eyes wide with interest, Soonyoung raises his head. “Oh? Why?” 

Wonwoo doesn’t break eye contact. “I think my cards all had to do with you.” 

He watches Soonyoung’s eyebrows lift. “You do,” he whispers, more of an echo than a question. 

“I do,” Wonwoo replies. “You’re the only new thing in my life lately—really, you’re the first new thing in years.” Now he hesitates. “You’re the only thing that’s...changing things.” 

There’s no reason not to be honest with Soonyoung, Wonwoo thinks, when he’s here and listening and smiling and _here._

“You are something _else,_ Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung murmurs. 

He could kiss him. This could be it. But when he looks at Soonyoung’s lips terror shoots through him and he second guesses himself, unsure if this is the moment. As much as he feels for Soonyoung, it gets overshadowed very, very suddenly by a memory he’s pushed away: the memory of how it feels to be left alone and rejected. It makes him let out one shaky, scared breath. Of course Soonyoung notices, but strangely he just smiles. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but stops, and simply raises one hand to Wonwoo’s cheek, placing it there for just a moment. Wonwoo feels his heart absolutely _quake_ in his chest, and smiles back, letting his fear be washed away in Soonyoung’s tide. 

  


As soon as Wonwoo comes downstairs the next morning to find Soonyoung sleeping on his sofa, sprawled and snoring, he finds himself grinning down at him, and feels full to bursting with affection, with a _thousand_ feelings Soonyoung has inspired in him, and he knows he won’t make it much longer trying to hold it all in. He feels so happy, despite having been too scared to kiss him last night—the sweetness of Soonyoung’s reaction and the softness in his eyes had only strengthened Wonwoo’s resolve, really, and he feels _excited_ because of it. The prospect of kissing Soonyoung sometime soon propels him through his morning as if he’s walking on air, and he could swear his garden smells fresher than ever when he steps outside. 

Soonyoung wakes up late—it’s already midday, and Wonwoo has already gathered ingredients for lunch and is in the process of preparing them. “Morning,” he says, inaccurately, but Wonwoo can’t bring himself to care when his voice is scratchy like that. 

“I picked some apples if you want something while I cook,” Wonwoo calls. 

To his surprise, though, Soonyoung has already snuck up behind him—he feels his chin dig into his shoulder and his arms snake around his waist and practically chokes, though by this point Soonyoung’s clinginess should hardly come as a shock. “What are you making,” Soonyoung purrs. 

Wonwoo clears his throat and smiles, unable to stay within the initial surprise of feeling Soonyoung behind him and instead letting himself settle back against him warmly. “I’m going to fry some vegetables,” he says, as Soonyoung pushes himself onto his tiptoes so he can see over Wonwoo’s shoulder better, and Wonwoo bends his knees a bit to let him. His cheek brushes against Wonwoo’s and he doesn’t bother to pull away, just stays there as he surveys the food Wonwoo’s been chopping. His cheek is so soft, and Wonwoo has to stop himself from turning and pressing his lips to it—although he supposes he could, since Soonyoung’s done it to him before. 

“Mm. No tomatoes please.” 

With that, Soonyoung’s weight disappears from his shoulder and he returns with an apple to sit on the counter next to where Wonwoo is cooking. Wonwoo finally turns to actually see him—and he’s seen him in the morning before, after the first time he’d seen the show, but this is different—this is the two of them, alone, in his _house,_ and if he doesn’t kiss him soon, he’s surely going to shrivel and die. 

As Wonwoo looks at Soonyoung, though, he watches his smile fade. “What’s the matter?” he asks. 

Soonyoung bites his lip. “I’m just worrying about Seungkwan. He probably has royal soldiers out looking for him, and if we aren’t all there to chase them away…” 

Wonwoo splutters. “Royal _what?”_

“Because he’s a prince, and he ran away from his kingdom?” Soonyoung gives Wonwoo an incredulous look. “You know this, I’ve already told you—oh, _I_ see. You didn’t believe me, did you?” 

Maybe Soonyoung had told him that. But it must have been soon after they’d met, during the small period of time after he’d ended up taken in and fooled by so many of Soonyoung’s stories that he’d started brushing most of them off as fantasy. And who could blame him? How many traveling circuses boast runaway princes in their midst? Wonwoo laughs. “Tell me again.” 

Another bite of his apple, and then Soonyoung launches into the story, about how they found Seungkwan walking alone along a dark road and picked him up. He hadn’t told them much about why he left, but Soonyoung, of course, has his theories: “Imagine how stuffy it must be to be a prince. A whole kingdom watching your every move? Just...stuck in one place?” It makes Wonwoo freeze, staring down at the vegetables he’d been frying up. For the first time in a long time, he remembers he _agrees_ with what Soonyoung’s saying—remembers how he hated being in one place. Hates. Hated? His head feels fuzzy and his brow furrows and he’s suddenly hit with the memory of how crushed he’d been when he first came back here, how sad, how resentful. It comes flooding back with force Wonwoo hadn’t expected, and it takes his breath for a moment. 

What had Hansol said? Ask himself if his life felt right, not comfortable? 

“Wonwoo?” Soonyoung’s saying. “Hey, Wonwoo.” 

He looks up, eyebrows raised. “Sorry. What?” 

Soonyoung’s noticed something’s off, because his own brow wrinkles and he regards Wonwoo extremely warily. “I was just saying I thought you knew when I was lying now...” 

Right away, Wonwoo’s mind quiets a bit; Soonyoung is helpfully distracting like that. “You must have told me before I learned. _Now_ I’m an expert.” 

“Oh _really?”_ Soonyoung asks, as a sly, secretive smile appears on his lips. Wonwoo wants nothing more than to kiss it away. “Let’s find out, then. Two truths and a lie.” 

“What do I get if I win?” 

“The knowledge that you’ve bested me at my own game, of course.” 

Wonwoo turns the heat on his stovetop down, and turns toward Soonyoung. “Alright then. Go on.” 

Thinking for a moment, and then holding up one finger, Soonyoung begins. “First...I once met a girl with one eye who could hit a bullseye on any target every single time.” With a grin, he holds up two fingers. “Second...I once met a terrible old curmudgeon who lived in a magic garden that never wilted.” Wonwoo can’t help but smile. Soonyoung is nowhere near as sneaky as he thinks. “Third—” 

“Don’t bother. The lie’s the one about me.” The interruption makes Soonyoung’s eyebrows raise, and Wonwoo steps to the side to stand in front of him and meet his eyes. “Because you don’t think I’m a terrible curmudgeon. _You_ like me. Better than almost anyone, remember?” He raises his chin. “I told you. I’ve learned your tricks. Good try, though.” 

Soonyoung exhales softly, and he smiles softly too. “I suppose that means you win.” 

“Naturally.” 

“But you like me too, right?” 

Wonwoo chuckles. “Naturally.” 

“Better than almost anyone?” 

Pursing his lips, Wonwoo considers for a moment. Then he wrinkles his nose, and shakes his head. “Better than everyone.” 

Soonyoung’s eyes widen and his lips part a little and Wonwoo feels incredibly accomplished at having rendered him speechless. After a bit he clears his throat, and when he speaks it’s quiet, almost a whisper. He smiles. “Finish our food, you silly man,” he says, and Wonwoo thinks maybe he’s blushing a bit as he looks away. 

They go down to their tree by the pond to eat their late lunch. When they’ve finished they start talking, and there they remain for hours, relaxed and lazy. Soonyoung is laying back, propped up on his elbows, sun-dappled and gorgeous, and he’s probably rambling about something outlandish as usual—but for once, Wonwoo isn’t listening to what he’s saying. Instead he’s focused on how Soonyoung’s lips curl mischievously around every word; how in turns he squints at the sun or throws his head back, eyes closed, to bask in it; how the early evening light turns his eyes from brown to liquid gold. Eventually Wonwoo shifts onto his knees facing him, because he simply can’t take it anymore, and they’ve waited long enough. Soonyoung is only half paying attention when Wonwoo leans forward and cups his cheek, and by the time he turns his focus to Wonwoo he still hasn’t registered what’s happening well enough to stop talking before Wonwoo brings their mouths together softly—mid-sentence, mid-word, because he can’t wait another heartbeat to feel Soonyoung’s lips under his own, and the sooner he does it the sooner maybe he’ll be allowed to feel Soonyoung’s heartbeat under his as well. 

Even though they’ve been dancing around this, Soonyoung tenses in surprise for a moment, makes an abrupt little sound against Wonwoo’s lips—but he relaxes quickly, going pliant and soft and letting Wonwoo kiss him and opening his warm mouth and kissing him back so, so slowly. As he melts under Wonwoo’s lips and teeth and tongue, he wraps his arms around him and lays back fully, dragging Wonwoo to the ground with him. Wonwoo feels delirious, and weightless, and he’s overwhelmed by the small sounds of Soonyoung’s breath, and of their lips against each other, and how absolutely, singularly perfect this moment is. 

Wonwoo doesn’t know how long they stay that way—the light filtering through the cherry trees is still dreamy and soft and golden when he finally pulls away to look at Soonyoung, who’s staring up at him almost reverently. In silence, he watches Soonyoung’s chest rise and fall, until finally Soonyoung smiles that smile like he has a secret, and _finally,_ Wonwoo feels like he’s in on it. He sits up again, and Soonyoung follows. “You’re an absolute riot, Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says, breathlessly, lips wet and cheeks flushed. _I did that,_ Wonwoo thinks dizzily. “You’re supposed to ask permission before you go around stealing kisses from unsuspecting circus boys, you know.” 

The sun is in the process of disappearing beneath the horizon now, dusk settling around them quietly. Wonwoo grins. “Sorry.” 

Soonyoung takes Wonwoo’s hand, locking their fingers together. He’s beaming, now. “Took you long enough.” 

“I was waiting. For the right moment.” 

Moving closer and closer, Soonyoung’s eyes flick from Wonwoo’s eyes to his lips and back again. “You could have kissed me this morning. Last night. The day before. A month ago. You could have kissed me the first time you saw me, Wonwoo, and it would have been the right moment.” 

Wonwoo reaches up, thumbing at Soonyoung’s chin, and then his bottom lip. “But it wouldn’t have been the same, you know.” Soonyoung presses as close as he can, his forehead touching Wonwoo’s and his nose brushing lightly against Wonwoo’s and his breath escaping against Wonwoo’s lips, warm and shaky and light. “It wouldn’t have been like this.” 

Soonyoung smiles, blurred and too-close, but Wonwoo can _feel_ it, and inside him, something ignites. 

  


It may always be spring in Wonwoo’s garden, but Soonyoung warms everything differently, casts everything in green and gold, and for what might be the very first time the warmth makes it past Wonwoo’s skin, finds its way into his heart with every smile, every touch, every kiss—of which there are many. Wonwoo can barely get anything done for Soonyoung crowding up against him with his lips stuck out. Soonyoung helps him take care of the garden, but they have to keep pausing between watering and fertilizing because Soonyoung grabs Wonwoo’s face in his dirt-covered hands, grinning madly and asserting that “It doesn’t even _need_ it, Wonwoo, it’s _magic._ ” They attempt to watch the sunset from Wonwoo’s back porch, but they miss it, because Soonyoung laments how terribly romantic it is and reaches to turn Wonwoo’s face toward him gently. Soonyoung climbs into Wonwoo’s trees, balancing on the boughs and hanging upside down from them by his knees, refusing to come down until Wonwoo kisses him then and there. Wonwoo finds himself complying, obviously, usually asking some variation of “What was that for?” to which Soonyoung has a bevy of answers ready at any moment: 

_The way you smiled just then._

_You were looking at me like you wanted me to, you know._

_It had been too long since I kissed you._

_I just wanted to._

_I always want to._

_I hate not kissing you._

_No reason._

_Just because._

And who is Wonwoo to deny him? Soonyoung’s kisses are sharp and sweet at once, like Wonwoo can taste the half-truths and tall tales that live on his tongue as well as the way his voice gets softer once the sun goes down, the way he’s more willing to open his heart then. He gives kisses and affection the same way he lives, freely and recklessly and sweetly, with little regard for anything else once he’s set his mind to it. Wonwoo couldn’t tell him no if he tried—about anything, probably, but particularly regarding this. It’s very rewarding for him, after all. 

(When it’s Wonwoo initiating the kisses, Soonyoung never asks why; just smiles and cups his face in his hands and hums happily, pulling him closer and holding him tight.) 

Things move slowly with them for awhile, both of them content to let things bubble warmly, fingers entwined and lips locked, but at the end of Soonyoung’s break when Wonwoo has to send him off, knowing he’s going to be further away, he realizes he misses his lips already and feels the hunger start to simmer. 

“I suppose I’ll probably find a new magical garden with a new sweet boy inside,” Soonyoung jokes, leaning over the side of the cart he’s perched in. “You know. As one does.” Wonwoo laughs, but far, far beneath the surface, something pangs gently. To Wonwoo’s horror, Soonyoung seems to have realized what he’s said, his eyes widening just a bit. “I wouldn’t,” he says quietly, leaning down further and shaking his head. “You know I wouldn’t, right?” 

And strangely enough, Wonwoo does. He trusts Soonyoung, despite everything experience has told him. So he nods. “I know.” 

Jisoo claps Wonwoo on the back as he’s on his way to his place at the head of the cart. “Been thinking about what I said?” he asks Wonwoo, one side of his mouth quirking up. It makes Wonwoo wrinkle up his brow—he thinks he’s on the cusp of realizing something, and he tries to coax it to the surface of his brain, but he can’t seem to manage. Jisoo just smiles. “That’s alright. Keep thinking.” 

Confused, Wonwoo stares after him as he climbs into the front seat—only turning back when he feels Soonyoung’s hands on his face. “We’ll still see each other all the time. Once we’re set up I’ll be able to come h—come back to you every night. Or you’ll come to me. Whichever.” At this point Soonyoung’s biting his lip nervously and clearly saying it to calm himself rather than Wonwoo. Wonwoo chuckles, bringing one of Soonyoung’s hands to his lips. He hadn’t missed Soonyoung almost calling here _home_ and he suddenly finds it impossible to be even a little sad or worried. 

“Whichever,” he says firmly, and Soonyoung kisses him. 

“Remember. Three days. You’ll come, right?” 

He means opening night in the next area, and he already knows Wonwoo will be there. But Soonyoung looks so small, and so worried despite having nothing to worry about. It strikes Wonwoo that this might be the first time Soonyoung’s had anyone to say goodbye to. “I’ll be there, Soonyoung.” 

It strikes him, too, that this will be the first time he’s left town in years, and he wonders how on earth he ended up this way. 

His garden smells too sweet when he opens the gate. 

  


~ ~ ~

  


Jihoon drops Wonwoo off on the evening of opening night, telling him to behave himself as his horse pulls his cart away. Soonyoung isn’t anywhere to be seen, at first, so he makes conversation with Hansol and Seungkwan. 

“Seokmin’s been training me to—um, _usher,_ ” Seungkwan says with a wide grin. 

“He’s going to be very good, don’t you think?” asks Hansol. 

Wonwoo snorts. “With that face?” he says, and Seungkwan bats his eyelashes, utterly angelically. “The poor bastards won’t know what hit them.” 

That’s the extent of the conversation, though, as something very warm and heavy slams into Wonwoo from behind, accompanied by the tinkling of a tiny bell, and starts dragging him backwards. Wonwoo’s smiling already, turning so he can see where he’s going, but Soonyoung just keeps leading him onward. He’s already in his costume, which is now sporting some strategically placed cutouts along his arms and waist, and Wonwoo thinks he might start drooling. Soonyoung steers him behind a wooden barn that must be acting as a convenient makeshift stable, and whirls around once they’re definitely out of sight of the rest of the camp. Somehow he’s even more gorgeous than Wonwoo remembers. 

“Hello,” Wonwoo says breathlessly, as Soonyoung just shakes his head quickly and pulls him close to kiss him. “Soonyoung—” he tries, but Soonyoung is relentless, murmuring _kiss me, kiss me_ against his lips. Wonwoo laughs and lets him turn them around so Soonyoung’s back is against the wall of the barn and his arms are around Wonwoo’s shoulders, keeping him close. Wonwoo’s hands find Soonyoung’s waist, where there _used_ to be silky black material, but now there are those sinful cutouts and nothing but his bare skin. Soonyoung makes a noise into Wonwoo’s mouth and Wonwoo wonders _why_ they’ve only kissed so far when Soonyoung’s bare skin is there, soft and inviting. In any case, they don’t have time now to do anything, though that isn’t stopping Soonyoung’s hands from wandering, or the renewed hunger simmering in Wonwoo’s chest from threatening to boil over. 

After a few minutes, when they’ve slowed down sufficiently, Wonwoo pulls away and leans his forehead against Soonyoung’s. 

“Soonyoung,” he says with a smile. “It’s only been three days.” 

To Wonwoo’s surprise, Soonyoung looks down like he’s embarrassed, then slowly wraps his arms around Wonwoo’s neck, burying his face in the side of it. “Three days was too _fucking_ much,” he says, muffled into Wonwoo’s collar. 

Wonwoo chuckles into Soonyoung’s hair. “It was, wasn’t it,” he sighs, letting Soonyoung cling to him. 

They stay that way for a bit, until Soonyoung gives a determined little huff. “Well, you’re here now and I have a show to put on,” he says. “What do you think of the new outfit?” He spins around for emphasis before striking a pose. 

Yes. The outfit. Wonwoo’s brain isn’t quite finished processing that. There’s a cut-out at Soonyoung’s chest, as well, and Wonwoo runs his fingers lightly along the edges of it, where cloth meets skin. “You look incredible,” he murmurs, because that much is obvious. Raising his eyes from Soonyoung’s chest to his face, he finds Soonyoung staring tenderly up at him. “You’re so beautiful.” He sets his fingers back to Soonyoung’s waist and it makes him shiver. 

“Stop it, Wonwoo,” he mumbles, sheepish and quiet. “I have to _focus._ ” 

“You asked what I thought,” Wonwoo says, grinning. 

“Yes, well.” Soonyoung smiles, seemingly having run out of steam for scolding Wonwoo already. He takes Wonwoo by the hand again. “Come along. Not long now until people will start arriving.” 

The show is fantastic as always, and after Wonwoo sneaks out the other side of the tent, trying to avoid the backup of people at the main exit. He finds Soonyoung’s tent and ducks inside—Soonyoung is wiping his makeup off in front of his small mirror (he's changed his makeup, as well, the silver and gold glitter of it glinting even in the darkness,) and freezes when he spots movement in it. It’s so dark in the tent he can barely see, but he knows Soonyoung knows it’s him. He turns around, reaching out for Wonwoo with a small smile that widens when Wonwoo crawls toward him. 

They both laugh quietly when their lips meet, the air shifting into something frantic and giddy as they kiss. Wonwoo moves to Soonyoung’s neck, and it makes him gasp and shudder and pull his body closer. “Are you magic,” Soonyoung sighs. 

Wonwoo lifts his head to look at him and raises one eyebrow. “Are you?” 

They laugh again, but Soonyoung shakes his head. “I think you are.” He pulls Wonwoo forward to kiss him softly. 

“How do you figure?” 

Soonyoung bites his lip. “Because,” he starts, sitting back a bit and reaching for both of Wonwoo’s hands. “You have magic here,” he says, pressing their palms and fingers together, “and here—“ one hand moves so he can trace a finger across Wonwoo’s bottom lip, “and here,” he whispers finally, moving his hand again to lay flat against Wonwoo’s chest, where Wonwoo’s heart has started _hammering._ Wonwoo is just about to respond when the hand on his chest begins a slow drag down his torso, making him swallow his words. Soonyoung looks up at him, his face close enough that Wonwoo can see the glitter that hadn't managed to be wiped off, that he can _feel_ what Soonyoung says next, when his hand has come to a stop at the front of his trousers. “And…” 

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, glancing to where he’d haphazardly pulled the tent flap shut even as he pulls Soonyoung into his lap and gathers him in his arms. 

“No one’s going to bother us.” Soonyoung leans his forehead against Wonwoo’s and Wonwoo exhales hard as one of Soonyoung’s hands brushes his hair out of his face, the other remaining still, just beneath the line of Wonwoo’s belt. “Let me...let me, please,” Soonyoung murmurs. 

Wonwoo aches at the proximity and at the hitch in Soonyoung’s voice, and nods, moving his own hands to the buttons on Soonyoung’s pants, undoing them as quick as he can and earning a breathy giggle. “Oh,” Soonyoung says, apparently not having expected such immediate reciprocation. He repeats it, stuttering, once Wonwoo has taken him out of his trousers (“Oh— _oh,_ Wonwoo—”) and as Wonwoo begins to stroke him Soonyoung’s hands scramble to even the score, to be touching Wonwoo as soon as he can and sooner. 

Once he _is_ touching Wonwoo, they find each other’s lips again and soon they’re panting, making small, muffled noises into each other’s mouths, trading kisses and frantic nods and murmured affirmations of _just like that, I love that, please, please don’t stop doing that._ It’s here, with their hands on each other, that Wonwoo realizes the thing Soonyoung has lit on fire within him, the thing that’s been making him feel like himself again, the thing that makes him realize he hasn’t been himself in the first place. It’s when things seem to become too _much_ for Soonyoung, and he shakes his head and drops it forward onto Wonwoo’s shoulder with a whimper, losing himself in need and sensation, that Wonwoo feels it—a spark at a fuse he thought was long burnt out. It’s strange timing, he guesses, but it’s because he recognizes the feeling in what he’s feeling for Soonyoung: something along the lines of want, although the way he wants Soonyoung has built to a gale-force squall while the other feeling is smaller, just one speck of starlight in his chest, a tiny pinprick of desire for something that’s just on the edge of his mind, but he can’t quite remember. Yet. He thinks it’s almost there when he pulls Soonyoung even closer and takes both of them in his hand and Soonyoung throws both arms around his neck, moaning breathlessly, but the Soonyoung-want eclipses it too strongly, too completely, and he abandons that train of thought in favor of giving his full attention to how good Soonyoung feels against him, how Soonyoung pulls at his shirt until there’s enough skin exposed at his shoulder for him to set his mouth to, keeping his face hidden and Wonwoo’s name on his lips. 

It doesn’t take long for Wonwoo’s hand to bring Soonyoung over the edge with a quiet cry as he clutches Wonwoo’s shoulders hard enough to hurt; Wonwoo follows just a few moments after when he feels it happen, panting and unable to resist. For a few moments there’s silence except for their breathing, and eventually the rest of the world filters back into Wonwoo’s ears—the crackling of the fire, the music and the celebrations. Soonyoung shivers, and raises his head to meet Wonwoo’s eyes for just a second before kissing him, hesitant and soft, pressing his lips to Wonwoo’s like he isn’t sure he’s allowed. He relaxes, though, when Wonwoo kisses back. When they break apart Soonyoung is smiling languidly, and he laughs, holding Wonwoo so, so close with no regard for the mess between them. “I told you,” he sighs, brushing the tip of his nose against Wonwoo’s. “Magic.” 

When they’ve cleaned up, Wonwoo whispers “Is it alright if I stay?” It’s innocent, a legitimate request to sleep rather than an innuendo—and Soonyoung chuckles at him, shaking his head in fond confusion, tracing the line of Wonwoo’s cheek with one finger. 

“You know you don’t have to ask, dear.” 

But they don’t sleep, not for awhile. They lay with each other in silence as the party outside continues far into the night, and as they do Wonwoo searches again for the spark in his chest, and grabs onto it when he finds it, and then he starts talking. 

He starts at the very beginning, recounting how it had been his own idea for he and Jeonghan to go offer their services to the captain who’d announced the need for crew members in the pub they were sat in. He tells Soonyoung that they’d both known as soon as they returned from that first trip that they had to do it again, but especially he tells him how he’d always yearned to leave this town, to see other places and people, and how happy it made him to finally do it. The writing he leaves out—he doesn’t know why. But he smiles as he tells Soonyoung his stories, and Soonyoung smiles as he listens, intent on catching every syllable and inflection. Wonwoo vocalizes for the first time how cast aside he’d felt when Jeonghan left, how it had been bad enough to lose his best friend, but unimaginable to lose the thing he loved most in the world along with him; and then he talks about the garden, how it had sprung up around him when he’d felt the worst and, inexplicably, refused to wither and die with the seasons, how the seasons refused to budge as well. 

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung whispers, the first time he’s spoken since Wonwoo began. “Why did you _stop?_ You wouldn’t have had to be alone for long—you’d have met more people, you’d have made more friends.” 

“I don’t know. I guess I was scared it wouldn’t be the same.” He pauses. “That it wouldn’t feel the same.” Looking at it now, though, from this angle, laying next to Soonyoung—he isn’t sure that’s the only reason anymore. 

Soonyoung props himself up on an elbow to look down at him. “Were you afraid of more people leaving? If you tried again?” 

He isn’t sure. He thinks he would have been, had he met other people. “Maybe.” 

Soonyoung watches him for a moment, and then grins. “Am I...the first person you’ve told all of this to?” he asks. Wonwoo nods, without taking his eyes off him. The grin on his face fades a little, not all the way. For a second in the darkness Wonwoo is afraid it’s out of pity, but looking a bit closer he thinks otherwise. “Lucky me,” Soonyoung says softly, playing idly with Wonwoo’s hair, and Wonwoo realizes it’s just gladness on his face; he’s glad Wonwoo’s talking to him, sharing with him, letting him in. He wants to apologize for taking so long, or something, to thank him for waiting, but he thinks Soonyoung knows—Soonyoung’s good at knowing these things. He’s good at knowing Wonwoo. 

As Soonyoung tucks himself against Wonwoo’s side again, Wonwoo thinks he could stay here forever, and he dreads the morning when he’ll have to return home. 

 

_**ii. fata morgana**_

They decide the best and most prudent course of action is, of course, to alternate where they sleep and spend most of their time. Back and forth, day after day, between the circus camp and the cottage, so they can keep building what they have—they agree that that’s the most important thing: nurturing what’s growing between them and getting closer rather than having to be apart just when things are getting very, very good. So Soonyoung learns how to take care of everything within Wonwoo’s garden walls, while Wonwoo learns to re-familiarize himself with everything outside of them. But most of all, Soonyoung and Wonwoo learn each other, in every way they can. 

Wonwoo is surprised to find that there’s still more to learn of Soonyoung, considering how immediately he’d found himself privy to Soonyoung’s raised eyebrows and whispered secrets, but there is. He learns that Commodore is Soonyoung’s favorite of the horses, because they’d stolen him (“ _Rescued,_ Wonwoo,”) from a farm where he was starving not long after Soonyoung joined up. He learns how Soonyoung has been with the carnival longer than nearly anyone—even Seungcheol didn’t take over as ringmaster until a couple of years ago when his father died—and how he’s determined to make it a home for people like him, people who come upon it having nowhere else to go and _needing it,_ needing community and family and kindness. He learns the orphanage Soonyoung grew up in provided none of those things. It only hits him during one of these quiet nights, laying on his side and facing Soonyoung as he talks honestly about himself, rather than exaggerating tales about someone else, how _similar_ they are—hadn’t Wonwoo been a storyteller, at one point? Hadn’t he written everything he experienced into something larger than life and magical? And yet, for whatever reason, he still can’t reveal that part of himself to Soonyoung. When he tries, his throat dries out, and the words wither on his tongue, and his cabinet full of notebooks upon notebooks of writings remains untouched and secret. 

What he does tell Soonyoung are the stories behind each knick-knack and tchotchke adorning Wonwoo’s home: the shark’s tooth he’d found embedded in the bottom of his boot, the large uncut emerald he’d won in a poker game on a faraway island, spyglasses purchased in nearly every port city, countless shells and stones rubbed smooth by the tide on a thousand different beaches. Since the night in Soonyoung’s tent Wonwoo finds it easier and easier to open himself up to him; it scares him, in a way, because he isn’t sure where he’s headed anymore—the steadfastness and certainty of his garden walls don’t seem as reassuring as they once did—but even so he just can’t _stop_ once he’s started. Every story, every piece of himself given is like a leak sprung in the hull of Wonwoo’s proverbial ship, and Soonyoung is the ocean at her finest: unpredictable yet soothing, tempestuous yet alluring, colorful and sparkling and impossibly grand. 

As things stand, Wonwoo is fine with sinking. Wonwoo would be glad to be taken under the surface of Soonyoung and breathe him in until his lungs fill. 

And of course, they learn each other in other ways, too. Soonyoung susses out all the spots that make Wonwoo shiver when they’re touched in a matter of days, and it almost doesn’t seem fair that while Wonwoo had taken months to let himself be known by Soonyoung, Soonyoung can know him like _this_ in no time at all. Other than that, things move slow, and there’s a quiet thrill to it to be sure; but on the other hand, Wonwoo wants to sink into his bed while Soonyoung discovers him with fingers and tongue, wants to have his currents and coastlines charted and memorized until Soonyoung can navigate him with his eyes shut, because no one’s ever known him like that, not _really,_ and he desperately wants Soonyoung to be the first. 

But slow it is, and Wonwoo enjoys it regardless: the lazy way Soonyoung kisses him, the hesitance when their hands wander places that have still gone untouched, the comfort and warmth just curling up against Soonyoung in his tent brings. 

  


The first time Soonyoung unbuttons Wonwoo’s shirt, he has Wonwoo backed up against the kitchen wall, too distracted by Soonyoung’s lips on his neck to notice and prepare him for what he’ll find. As a result, the shocked little gasp Soonyoung gives after half the buttons are undone confuses Wonwoo, but the confusion quickly shifts to amusement, and he chuckles. 

Soonyoung’s staring just below his collarbone. “You...you never told me you have tattoos,” he breathes, smiling in disbelief at the compass rose on Wonwoo’s chest. 

“I did spend multiple years at sea,” Wonwoo replies quietly. 

Another few moments pass with Soonyoung just staring, until he finally shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I need to sit down for this,” Soonyoung says faintly, plopping into one of Wonwoo’s kitchen chairs. Wonwoo follows, giggling, standing in front of him and tousling his hair before tilting his chin upward. Soonyoung laughs. “Of _course_ a big, tough sailor man like you has tattoos. I should have known.” Soonyoung cocks his head, eyes sparkling with curiosity and excitement. “Do you have more?” 

Wonwoo nods. 

“Can I see?” Soonyoung whispers, barely audible, and Wonwoo nods again, bending down to give Soonyoung one soft, sweet kiss. Soonyoung accepts this as permission to let his eyes hover at the skin that’s showing from under his partially unbuttoned shirt. Instead of continuing, though, Wonwoo deftly rolls up his sleeves past his elbows, revealing the tiny shellback turtle on the inside of his left arm, and then the nautical star that mirrors it on his right. Soonyoung inspects them carefully. When he thumbs over the star, his lips twitch up and he raises his eyes. “I like this one,” he says, quirking one eyebrow up. 

A slow smile makes its way across Wonwoo’s face. “It’s the North Star, not a shooting star.” 

Of course, Soonyoung only smirks more wickedly. “Still a star.” 

The look on Soonyoung’s face makes Wonwoo lick his lips. “I have more stars, actually.” With that, Wonwoo undoes his shirt the rest of the way, untucking it and letting it hang open as Soonyoung watches hungrily, lip caught between his teeth. He pulls at the other side of his collar to reveal a constellation across his chest and shoulder. Standing, Soonyoung has a hand outstretched already, but he pauses, questioning. “Go on,” Wonwoo finds himself whispering, and then Soonyoung is tracing the lines between the stars in Wonwoo’s constellation with his fingertips. It’s gentle, and insanely intimate, and Wonwoo’s breathing shallows. “It’s Vela. The sail of a ship.” 

“Pretty,” Soonyoung murmurs, and Wonwoo shrugs his shirt off one shoulder to show off the dragon curled around his bicep, and the rope tied in a bowline knot beneath it. A small, breathy huff of laughter escapes Soonyoung, like he can’t believe his eyes. 

Which is funny, because _Wonwoo_ is the one who feels like this can’t be real, and has to take one of Soonyoung’s hands and bring it to his lips just to prove to himself he’s not some kind of mirage. “You get a dragon when you cross the hundred-eightieth meridian,” he says against the backs of Soonyoung’s fingers, “the rope means I was a deckhand. The turtle’s for crossing the equator.” 

The memories accompanying Wonwoo’s tattoos are slowly fading into focus in his mind—until Soonyoung distracts him with a slow, gentle kiss. “My sailor man,” he sighs into it, smiling, and Wonwoo feels a surge of assuredness. 

“The rest are swallows,” he says, steady and determined. He pulls one side of his shirt back to reveal the line of three birds inked into his skin at the curve of his waist, on his right side. 

Awestruck, Soonyoung reaches down and brushes his fingertips against the tattoos. “What do they mean?” 

“Sailors get one for every f—“ He falters as Soonyoung sinks to his knees and brings his lips to Wonwoo’s skin, mouthing along the line of tattooed swallows, kissing each one gently, reverently. “For every five thousand nautical miles they travel,” he finishes breathily. “I have two more on the other side, and two on my back.” Soonyoung meets his eyes and moves to Wonwoo’s other side, again caressing the soft, pale skin of his waist before setting his mouth to it. 

“I can’t believe how fucking beautiful you are,” Soonyoung breathes against his skin, and Wonwoo’s eyelids flutter. “And I cannot _believe_ you have thirteen tattoos. If you’d kept sailing you’d probably have more than me,” he continues with a grin. If Wonwoo hadn’t been so entirely focused on each movement of Soonyoung’s lips on his skin, he might have thought more about that statement, but Soonyoung is kissing his way across the lower part of his stomach and it feels too nice, too perfect to think of anything else. 

He watches, entranced by Soonyoung’s tongue poking out every now and then, and then he rests one hand in Soonyoung’s hair, running his fingers through it absently. “You’ll have to tell me what all yours are for too,” Wonwoo says, sighing contentedly. Soonyoung laughs. 

“Mostly good luck charms. Some playing cards and peacock feathers. Lots of other things. We’d need _days_ to cover them all, darling.”

“We don’t have days. I’m due in the marketplace this afternoon.” 

At that, Soonyoung’s head snaps up. “You’re not coming along today?” He pouts. 

Wonwoo grins. “I have to make _money._ I’ll be there tomorrow.” He reaches down to tousle Soonyoung’s hair, but Soonyoung ducks out of his way. 

“Mean.” With his nose in the air like this Soonyoung looks like a petulant child, but it only endears Wonwoo to him more. He’s pouting, and avoiding Wonwoo’s eyes, so Wonwoo lifts his chin with one finger. 

“I’ve put off selling twice already. My stock is overflowing.” 

Dramatically, Soonyoung sighs, just before he presses a kiss right beneath Wonwoo’s navel. “But I’ll miss you.” 

It’s whiny on the surface, but underneath it’s quiet, and it’s so sincere, and it makes Wonwoo beam and wrinkle up his nose happily. “It’s a day, Soonyoung. You can make it.” He shifts a little, his pants having become uncomfortably tight as Soonyoung’s mouth moved over his skin. 

Soonyoung notices, of course. “Ha. I _see._ You would have me bestow upon you the honor of my sensual talents and then send me on my way.” 

“I would have you never leave, if I could. But that’s not very realistic, is it?” Wonwoo responds with a smile. Soonyoung smiles as well, reluctantly, before murmuring a quiet _sit down_ which Wonwoo obliges immediately, dropping like a stone into the chair behind him. He stretches up to kiss him, hands moving up his thighs. 

“Can I...?” Soonyoung asks, his fingers tracing invisible lines at Wonwoo’s hip, and Wonwoo can only find it in himself to nod. 

He pouts again when he does finally leave, but Wonwoo smiles to himself, already looking forward to how happy he’ll be to see him tomorrow. Across the road, Jihoon is mending a loose hinge on his gate, and he waves to Soonyoung before shooting Wonwoo a wily grin and a lewd hand gesture. Wonwoo rolls his eyes and makes his way toward him anyway. 

“Is his carriage about to turn into a pumpkin?” Jihoon asks as Soonyoung and Commodore trot into the distance. “It’s been weeks since the two of you didn’t leave together.” 

“I’m selling today,” Wonwoo says. “And it hasn’t been that long.” He pauses, leaning against Jihoon’s fence and tilting his head as he thinks. “One week, at most.” 

Jihoon stands and brushes off the knees of his trousers before grinning evilly up at Wonwoo. “You _love_ him.” The look Wonwoo shoots him isn’t enough to deter him. “What? You can’t possibly think I’d let you get away with this when I’ve _never_ seen anyone in that house besides you, in five whole years, and you’re _always_ giving me shit about—“ He cuts himself off, cheeks pinking just the faintest bit. 

It makes Wonwoo smile, and chuckle deep in his chest. It’s sweet, really: Jihoon thinking he has any room to talk on these subjects. 

As they stand in comfortable silence, Wonwoo considers ‘being in love.’ He isn’t now, surely, not yet. But perhaps this is how it feels to be heading in that direction. The thought fills him with dread for a moment, but he tries to quell it—would it be so bad? To knowingly walk toward something he wants and just let himself have it? What would it be like, to wake up next to Soonyoung, here, every day? 

Wonwoo blinks uncertainly. He hasn’t thought about this in the long term, yet, and doing so makes him squirm. It’s unexpected, and odd: something is telling him the thought is wrong, and Wonwoo can’t understand why. How could anything to do with Soonyoung be wrong? And if it’s not Soonyoung that’s wrong, what is it? 

“You’ve missed a button, by the way,” Jihoon says, startling him out of his contemplation, and Wonwoo flares his nostrils, smiling and shoving at Jihoon’s shoulder, forgetting for a moment about such strange and tenuous subjects as love. 

  


~ ~ ~

  


It’s not often that Soonyoung isn’t around, but sometimes their schedules just don’t mesh—Wonwoo is too busy to ride up the coast with him, or has an early morning and can’t spend the night, things like that. When it does happen, though, he _misses_ him, and he misses him fiercely. He hasn’t truly missed anyone, hasn’t felt the stinging emptiness of someone who should be beside him _not being there_ since Jeonghan, and even though he knows it isn’t the same situation as Jeonghan, it still hurts.

(He doesn’t think about what will happen when carnival season ends. He can’t bring himself to.) 

He does wonder if Soonyoung misses him this way. Obviously, he says he misses him, and tackles him with kisses when they reunite after a day or two apart. But Wonwoo just wonders if it’s really the same, and if Soonyoung is feeling things as strongly and as unrelenting as he is. 

The answer comes one night when Wonwoo has gone to bed alone. He hears a clatter from downstairs and bolts upright in bed, mind racing—until he hears Soonyoung’s voice slurring out a few curses, and then footsteps climbing the stairs. Wonwoo continues to listen as a heavy thud hits his bedroom door, and he laughs a bit, because it sounds very much like Soonyoung has just...slumped against it. 

“Wonwoo,” he hears, and laughs again at Soonyoung’s obvious state of inebriation. “Wonwoo, can I come in? Please?” 

“Yes,” Wonwoo answers, amused. 

The door opens slowly and Soonyoung shuffles in: still made-up and sweaty from his performance, and so clearly drunk. “Soonyoung, you didn’t...come here alone, did you? Like this?” 

A soft sigh as he sits on the bed. “Seokmin brought me.” 

Wonwoo laughs. “You’re drunk.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Soonyoung huffs. “I’m _aware,_ ” he simpers, too loud all of a sudden, and Wonwoo scrunches up his nose and shushes him. “Honestly, I could walk a tightrope drunk, _Wonwoo,_ I mean _really,_ I think I could handle half an hour on solid—you know, horse.” He pauses, folding his knees underneath him and looking down at his hands. “Very tired now, though.” 

“Well, come to bed.” Wonwoo pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed and pats the pillow. 

Soonyoung reaches down and cups Wonwoo’s cheek, traces it and then his upper lip with one finger. He pouts. “Want to kiss you,” he whines, bordering on _distraught,_ and Wonwoo shakes his head fondly, and sits up to give Soonyoung what he wants. 

He tastes like cider and smoke and instantly his arms are around Wonwoo’s neck and he smiles, giving a satisfied little hum. Wonwoo pulls away and Soonyoung still has his eyes closed for a moment after. “Thank you,” he sighs when he opens his eyes, leaning in again to plant a very wet kiss on Wonwoo’s cheek. 

“You’re welcome. Let’s sleep, though,” Wonwoo says, trying not to giggle at how sweet it is; instead gently tugging on Soonyoung’s wrists, laying him down and watching him struggle with the bedcovers for a moment before stilling. 

Wonwoo looks at Soonyoung laying next to him, eyes closed and blanket pulled up to his nose. The affection he feels for him makes him want to cry, and the affection he feels _from_ him, turned back on himself, makes him sigh in happiness. 

At the sound, Soonyoung stirs a bit. “You’re too far away,” he mumbles. 

So Wonwoo curls around him, chest pressed against his back, nose pressed into the soft curls of his hair. It’s incredibly nice—holding someone like this again after...well, if he’s honest, he’s not sure he’s ever held someone like this. Not like _this._ Being close is something he’s become unaccustomed to, but settling into it again makes his whole body tingle and his heart shake. 

“Wonwoo,” comes Soonyoung’s small, sleepy voice. “You’re very nice.” 

Wonwoo chuckles. “Thank you? So are you.” 

“Shh,” Soonyoung scolds, and Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to sleep.” However, he squirms in Wonwoo’s arms until he’s turned around to face him, blinking slowly. “Kiss,” he demands. 

“I’ve already kissed you.” 

He frowns. “Kiss.” 

“I thought you were trying to sleep?” Wonwoo laughs, and Soonyoung’s lower lip pokes out again. He whines a little, and Wonwoo smiles. “Fine, fine, kiss. Then sleep.” 

Closing the distance between them, Wonwoo presses his lips to the corner of Soonyoung’s mouth, and Soonyoung holds his face in his hands, guiding him to kiss him full on. “I like you so much,” he sighs drunkenly against Wonwoo’s lips. “You’re _nice._ ” 

Wonwoo’s hand runs up and down Soonyoung’s side, rubbing gently at his waist over his rumpled shirt. “ _Sleep,_ shooting star.” 

Soonyoung closes his eyes, and exhales a small breath. There’s quiet for a bit and Wonwoo thinks he’s fallen asleep, still holding Wonwoo’s face, but his eyes blink open again. He bites his lip, concern and unease darkening his face. “You...you wouldn’t leave me, right?” He looks at Wonwoo for a few fragile seconds, then sniffles. When he speaks again his voice is fragile too. “Whatever happens, you won’t let me go?” 

It catches Wonwoo off guard. This is possibly the drunkest he’s seen Soonyoung, and—Wonwoo’s never felt as though Soonyoung had hidden anything from him, or had trouble voicing concerns, but evidently this is something he’s only been able to bring himself to say when he’s not in his right mind. It worries Wonwoo—he’s thinking about the Tower, surely, but he’s never talked about it like this before, and Wonwoo hates the quiver in his voice. It’s funny, too, in a way that’s not funny: he’d wanted to know if Soonyoung felt the same, as strongly, anywhere _near_ what he felt, but it only hurts to know Soonyoung has some of the same fears as he does. 

“I’m not going to leave, Soonyoung,” he says, reaching up to pull one of Soonyoung’s hands away from his face and hold it in his own. “Of course I won’t. Why…why are you asking?” 

Soonyoung’s expression smooths a bit. He looks down, and huffs out an embarrassed laugh. “Oh...no reason, sailor man.” 

They wake up the next morning near the same time—Soonyoung first, and Wonwoo shortly after when Soonyoung sits up and groans. “Shit,” he says, dropping his head into his hands. “Why on earth—” he starts, and turns, sees Wonwoo and frowns in confusion. “How have I ended up here, then?” 

“Apparently, Seokmin brought you,” Wonwoo says, stretching his arms above his head, then sitting up. Soonyoung’s nodding as though the memories are coming back to him, slowly. “You were _quite_ drunk.” 

“Was I terribly inappropriate,” he asks, scowling in preemptive embarrassment. 

Wonwoo looks down, and considers bringing up Soonyoung’s question, but figures it might make him uncomfortable to know he’d said it. So he smiles, and shrugs. “No.” Soonyoung smiles, his nose scrunching up, and moves to swing one leg over Wonwoo’s lap, straddling his outstretched thighs and leaning up to kiss him quickly. “I don’t know why you came, though. What were you getting up to last night?” 

His eyes brighten. “Oh, Wonwoo, there was this couple, a duke and duchess. Yewon and Seungkwan robbed them _blind._ So we ran into town and bought this fancy booze,” he says, and squints, as though the rest of the events get fuzzier from there. “And I was having a grand time. And then...I started thinking about you, and I just...missed you. Wished you were there.” He purses his lips. “I get awfully tired of having to be without you. And being so exhausted after performances that I can barely stay awake even if I’m with you. It feels like...I just…” He laughs once, under his breath. “I just love being around you. I wish we were still here in town.” 

Wonwoo’s heart swells, but the thing he’s been trying not to think about has reared its head and he chews on his lip for a moment, contemplating whether or not to say it. “Soonyoung,” he says softly. “What...do you do when carnival season is over?” he asks gingerly, not wanting to say out loud his actual worries. 

And Soonyoung, of course, is too smart for that. He sighs. “There’s usually work to be done. Plans to be made. Sometimes Seungcheol and Haebin and I travel around casing towns, seeing where we think we’ll do the best.” That doesn’t surprise Wonwoo—Soonyoung is one of the most senior troupe members, after all. Soonyoung meets his eyes. “But none of it lasts the whole winter, you know. I do have time where I can do as I please,” he says gently. “And we won’t go any further away from here for another few weeks, at least. Maybe even longer.” 

He’s sweet to try and reassure him, and it makes Wonwoo grin. There will have to be a time for this conversation, but Wonwoo thinks now isn’t it. So he looks into Soonyoung’s eyes and nods, before slowly looking right, then left, then raising an eyebrow, throwing his arms around Soonyoung and falling backwards, pulling the other boy firmly down on top of him. Soonyoung makes a surprised noise before he starts giggling. He smiles down at Wonwoo and runs his fingers through his hair before kissing him, less wet and drunk than last night but with just as much intent and twice as much joy. Being able to tell, to _feel_ how happy it makes Soonyoung to be this close to him is so much, and Wonwoo holds Soonyoung’s body against his, tries to convey silently that he could do this forever. He’d do this forever, if he had the chance. If Soonyoung would let him. If he’d let himself. 

That thought gets brushed away, in favor of letting Soonyoung kiss him, and when Soonyoung’s had his fill of Wonwoo’s lips he pulls away, blinking dreamily, smiling like he’s in a daze. “Sorry for just showing up last night,” he says breathlessly. 

“I’m glad you did,” Wonwoo murmurs. “I was missing you too.” 

Soonyoung’s face lights up even more. “You were?” 

“Mhm.” He curls a lock of Soonyoung’s hair around his finger. “I miss you more every time you’re not here.” 

  


~ ~ ~

  


The garden seems smaller. 

It isn’t smaller, of course. Nothing’s wilted, or lost its color, because nothing ever does. Nevertheless, it feels smaller, and Wonwoo wonders why.

For five years, people have marveled at it. Even Wonwoo could never deny its beauty, the myriad of colors and fragrances. In the wake of finding himself alone, especially, it had been easy to lose himself in the routine, in the satisfaction of bringing something so sprawling and magnificent to life. People have always said it was magic, and on particularly thoughtful days Wonwoo will admit that he doesn’t have any other ideas as to what could have caused his garden to stay the way it has. Scientifically, it’s impossible; logically, it’s impossible, and yet here it is. 

Here Soonyoung is, too, impossible in his own way. Truly, Wonwoo’s property has never seemed more magical than when Soonyoung is walking there, skimming his hands along the leaves of plants, lounging in trees, flitting through the tall grass. He’s every bit as colorful as the garden, but Wonwoo can’t bring himself to compare them anymore. His garden feels _smaller._ Both it and Soonyoung are beautiful, both unexplainable, but Soonyoung is nothing so finite as a gated, walled-off plot of land, no matter how deep into the earth the roots stretch. Since the day they met, Wonwoo has searched for ways to describe Soonyoung: metaphors and similes he’d write down and inevitably cross out—if he still wrote things, down, that is—the perfect adjectives for his smile; adverbs for the movements of his every muscle and limb. But Soonyoung has never been a garden. He has always been an ocean. 

Granted, Wonwoo hasn’t seen the real ocean in years, save for tiny, accidental glimpses he’d shield his eyes from as though it was too burning hot to look at. He knows, though, that Soonyoung gives him the same feeling he’d had perched in the crow’s nest of the Raconteur. Soonyoung brings the sea back to Wonwoo, without even trying, stretching out from him in every direction until he’s all that can be seen, and the comparisons only grow stronger. The ocean had made him feel small, but never insignificant—he’d never seen it as a negative. His garden, on the other hand, feels claustrophobic as of late. Wonwoo had never _realized_ before how small it is. When he’s within a glade of trees or surrounded by vegetation and flora it’s so easy to let himself forget that his property has a start and an end, and that on the other side of his fences things die, things change. 

It scares him to think about. It makes his head hurt, if he tries too hard. 

Soonyoung is holding Wonwoo’s hand as they walk through the garden, and Wonwoo is telling him an old sailor’s legend he’d learned at sea. Eventually the air becomes muggy and damp, and Soonyoung, sweating, insists they sit down. As luck would have it they’ve reached one of Wonwoo’s favorite parts of the garden, and one of the strangest, where the flowers stretch five feet into the air. Wonwoo has a tiny patch cleared at the base of a tree, so he can come here and read every now and then—only big enough for one person, so the effect of being swallowed by these flowers isn’t lost, but Soonyoung tends to make sure he and Wonwoo occupy the same space at all times. Even so, Wonwoo nearly suffocates this time as they come upon the tree, and he doesn’t think it’s Soonyoung’s presence or the sticky, hot air making him feel that way. 

“How fucking _big_ is this place,” Soonyoung muses as soon as he’s made his way into the small clearing. He hasn’t noticed Wonwoo’s uneasiness. “Every time I think I’ve seen all of it. I swear. Ridiculous.” 

Wonwoo sits down against the tree and motions for Soonyoung to join him despite the strange feeling threatening to constrict his lungs. “You haven’t been around nearly long enough to have seen all of it yet.” He smiles as Soonyoung sits next to him, snuggling up against him now that they’re in the shade of the tree. He feels himself relax. 

From Wonwoo’s side, Soonyoung makes a content little sound. “Yet,” he repeats. 

The space Soonyoung has cleared for him in his heart is enough to alleviate some of the tightness of reality. Wonwoo is sweating, the warmth where Soonyoung leans against him bordering on uncomfortable, but he doesn’t dare move away, and takes Soonyoung’s hand in his own despite the sweat and the heat. 

They sit in silence for a long while, so long Wonwoo wonders if Soonyoung has fallen asleep. The he speaks, suddenly. “Wonwoo,” he says, sitting up and looking around. “I’ve only just realized. Are there—I don’t hear any birds, or anything. I don’t think I’ve seen any here?” He pauses. “No bugs either. No squirrels, no nothing.” 

Wonwoo, truly, has never noticed. 

“They can tell it isn’t real,” he says quietly after a moment, speaking almost without thinking. “They can tell it shouldn’t be this way.” 

Soonyoung eyes him almost warily for a long, long stretch of seconds. “Have you ever thought about sailing again?” he asks finally. 

“I…” he starts, wishing Soonyoung wasn’t looking at him. “That’s behind me,” he hears himself say, and then he furrows his brow, feels the spark inside him flare up. He thinks he’s just lied to Soonyoung for the first time, and it had just _come out._ He hadn’t meant to say it, at least not so quickly. _Not until I met you,_ is what he’d been thinking, but it hadn’t made it out of his throat. 

Soonyoung seems to pick up on Wonwoo’s discomfort, and he asks his next question much more delicately. “Why?” 

This time Wonwoo pays attention. “I don’t think it’s realistic,” he says, slowly, and it comes out fine. It’s the truth. “I haven’t done it in so long. I—I’d—” He wants to, he realizes. But that’s _obvious,_ he thinks. He hadn’t wanted to stop in the first place, so of course he still wants to. “I think I’d like to, again, someday?” 

The next question from Soonyoung is so gentle it almost makes him cry before he’s even registered the meaning. “Wonwoo,” he starts, dragging his fingertips lightly over Wonwoo’s forearm. “Are you happy here?” 

“Of course,” he says quietly, frowning a bit. Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be? Why does he have wildfire in his belly all of a sudden? Why has he never questioned once in five years if he was happy? 

“Wonwoo,” comes Soonyoung’s soft voice. “It’s alright if you aren’t.” 

He lets out a sigh. There’s that fuzzy feeling in his head again, and he feels several conflicting feelings at once all rattling around in his chest. It’s confusing, and bothersome. “I’m happy with you,” he says, because it’s what makes sense. 

A pause, and then a laugh from Soonyoung. “Stop trying to distract me with sweetness, sailor man.” He leans in closer to Wonwoo. “Eventually it won’t work.” 

Wonwoo reaches up to trace the line of Soonyoung’s chin. “Won’t it?” 

Soonyoung’s eyes fall shut. “It won’t.” 

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, though Soonyoung can’t see. “...It seems to be.” 

Soonyoung gives a little huff, and climbs into Wonwoo’s lap. “I said eventually, not today.” 

The air almost seems to cool as Soonyoung kisses Wonwoo, but maybe Wonwoo is imagining it. It’s possible that’s just the effect Soonyoung has on him getting even stronger—he can calm him down, why shouldn’t he be able to comfort him in other ways? 

“When d’you need to go?” he murmurs, moving to latch his mouth onto Soonyoung’s neck, salty with sweat. 

Tilting his head back, Soonyoung doesn’t answer at first, just makes a small, encouraging noise and fists a hand into Wonwoo’s hair to hold him in place. “Maybe I’ll just stay,” he sighs finally. “They can go on without me.” 

And god, Wonwoo wishes he was serious. “What would they do without their shooting star?” he asks into Soonyoung’s shoulder, his shirt having slid to one side, exposing it. 

Soonyoung takes Wonwoo’s face in his hands, lifting it away from his skin. “What will you do without your shooting star?” he whispers with a grin. So Wonwoo pulls him firmly against him, and kisses him. 

Wonwoo had learned quickly that attention— _this_ kind of attention—overwhelms Soonyoung completely. Kisses he can return enthusiastically; he can whisper filthy things in Wonwoo’s ear for hours; he can put his hands anywhere on Wonwoo without so much as blushing. But the second the tables turn, Soonyoung changes. Attention on him makes him shudder, he can barely meet Wonwoo’s eyes, he covers his mouth and tries to stay quiet, he hides his face when he can’t. It doesn’t surprise him when Soonyoung’s eyes squeeze shut and his head drops forward as he starts to move, pressing his hips forward to meet Wonwoo’s. It fascinates Wonwoo, how someone like Soonyoung—a performer, someone who lives in the spotlight, who lives _for_ it—can be so easily conquered. Conquered by _Wonwoo,_ no less. And he doesn’t mind, but he much prefers the rare times he can get Soonyoung to let himself go. He’s spent years cultivating and he thinks his hands have never created anything as beautiful as the look on Soonyoung’s face as he touches him; the things he’s coaxed out of the earth can’t hold a candle to the sounds he’s coaxed out of Soonyoung; no tree branch or flower stem can match the arch of Soonyoung’s back or the column of his throat or the line of his brow. 

Eventually Soonyoung’s head raises, but he keeps his eyes closed, pleasure evident in his expression. He bites his lip, and Wonwoo can see the sounds he’s holding back, and something makes him stop. Wonwoo pushes against Soonyoung’s hips, impeding his movement until he slows, opening his eyes. “What,” he says, and the annoyance in his tone makes Wonwoo smile. Then he cups Soonyoung’s cheek, and speaks. 

“You don’t have to hide from me, you know. You can open your eyes.” He watches Soonyoung’s chest move, his breathing still labored, and then he watches him cast his eyes down. 

“I know,” he mumbles, and Wonwoo slips his hands underneath his shirt. “I just get so—I just—” He stutters, words faltering, as Wonwoo’s fingers move up and down his sides and his back. “You aren’t helping,” he finishes weakly, finally meeting Wonwoo’s eyes and shifting a little in his lap, hands on his shoulders. 

Still caressing the skin under his shirt, Wonwoo continues. “Why is it this, though? I mean… _this._ ”

Soonyoung looks at him for a moment. “I haven’t done...this...exactly, I guess? I’m not used to—oh, _what,_ ” he says, scowling as Wonwoo stifles a laugh. 

To apologize, Wonwoo stretches up to kiss him. “It’s just I’m still not convinced you don’t have a boy in every town. Let alone…” He trails off. He’s only joking, and Soonyoung knows it. It earns him a smack on the shoulder anyway. 

“ _Wonwoo._ ” Wonwoo grins. Soonyoung pouts, and continues gently: “I’ve done _this,_ ” he starts, gesturing between them, “plenty. I just…” He pauses, but doesn’t break eye contact. “Haven’t had very many boys be as sweet to me as you are.” Now he looks down, and shrugs. The sun seems to dim. “Old habits, at this point, I suppose.” 

Immediately, Wonwoo lifts his chin, and looks him in the eyes, and leans up and touches Soonyoung’s lips with his own, as softly as he can, as sweetly as he can. Just as softly, he moves his lips down Soonyoung’s neck. “I just wondered,” he says. “If you…” He trails off, and looks up to find Soonyoung smiling down at him. “You can close your eyes if you want. I don’t mind.” 

Soonyoung’s smile widens. “Just so you know,” he says. “I have one boy. In one town.” 

When the clouds gather overhead and Wonwoo realizes the shifts in the weather have been real, he tries to tell Soonyoung, but he’s too far gone in moving against Wonwoo, shaking his head desperately when Wonwoo attempts to get his attention, and he doesn’t listen until the sky opens up and the downpour starts. The rain is shockingly cold on Wonwoo’s overheated skin, and it must be the same for Soonyoung because he pulls away from Wonwoo and gasps. He looks around in complete and utter offense, then back to Wonwoo—and they both dissolve into laughter. 

“This isn’t _fair,_ ” Soonyoung whines as he stands, adjusting his trousers. “I didn’t even think it rained here!” 

Wonwoo’s nose scrunches up. “Of course it does? Why wouldn’t it?” He holds out a hand for Soonyoung. “Come on!” 

Soonyoung takes it, and they run toward the house—unfortunately, it doesn’t stop them from getting completely soaked. 

“You’re _drenched,_ ” Soonyoung says once they’re inside. He’s still smiling, and not nearly as out of breath as Wonwoo is. 

Thunder cracks violently, practically shaking the house, and Soonyoung lets out a startled little squeak. “You’re not much better,” Wonwoo forces out, without really looking, clutching a stitch in his side. When he does raise his head, Soonyoung’s hair is dripping, and his poor feather earring has absolutely seen better days, but what catches Wonwoo’s eye is how his thin, white shirt has gone translucent, every tattoo and muscle clearly visible. He swallows, and feels very much aware that they had not got to finish what they were doing. “We should dry off,” he manages, finally. 

They head upstairs to Wonwoo’s room together, and Wonwoo throws Soonyoung a towel. He’s standing by the window, looking out at the rain—it’s gotten even harder. Soonyoung whistles. “They’ll cancel the show tonight. No one’ll be going out in this. And between you and me, the tent leaks.” He shakes out his hair, then proceeds to towel it off. 

Wonwoo, however, bites his lip. “Are you sure?” 

Soonyoung doesn’t look back at him, just nods absently, still preoccupied with the rain. “I’m sure. It’s a shame. We were supposed to debut a new trick tonight.” As he speaks, Wonwoo walks up behind him and tugs on his soaked sleeve. “We have a bunch we’ve been...practicing...hello,” he finishes as he turns around to find Wonwoo directly behind him. 

“Yes, what a shame,” Wonwoo says. “I guess you’ll have to stay.” He leans down to kiss Soonyoung’s cheek, making Soonyoung hum happily and raise one arm to loop around Wonwoo’s shoulders. Their clothes hang heavy and wet, dripping onto Wonwoo’s bedroom floor, but they hold each other anyway; Wonwoo’s hands at Soonyoung’s waist and Soonyoung’s arms around Wonwoo’s neck. Soonyoung rests his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder and Wonwoo can feel his soft little breaths, hot against his still-wet skin. It makes him shiver. “Soonyoung,” he purrs, and Soonyoung, as if he knows what he’s thinking, repositions so Wonwoo can reach his neck. “I’m sorry we were interrupted,” Wonwoo continues, and drags his lips down Soonyoung’s throat. 

Despite the small shudder he gives, Soonyoung still manages to scoff. “You’re a _tease,_ Jeon Wonwoo,” he says, but Wonwoo can hear the smile in it. 

Pulling away, Wonwoo smiles crookedly at Soonyoung. “How on earth do you figure? We have a full, uninterrupted evening together.” Soonyoung’s smile falters momentarily and his eyes darken as he realizes. “I haven’t any need to tease you _now._ ” 

Soonyoung gives a light, airy little laugh. “What are you implying, sir?” 

“I’m not _implying_ anything.” He nudges Soonyoung backward until his back hits the wall. The impact is light, but it makes Soonyoung exhale, looking up at Wonwoo with something like determination. 

Wonwoo’s eyes travel down from Soonyoung’s face, though, to take in how his shirt is still clinging to his chest. His hands are still on Soonyoung’s shoulders, and he slowly moves his fingertips down over his chest, watching his breathing quicken. One finger drags back up, tracing the sliver of Soonyoung’s chest not covered by his shirt, then the dip between his collarbones, then his neck. Wonwoo meets his eyes again as he shivers. 

“Can I ask you something?” Soonyoung nods, reaching up to brush some of Wonwoo’s wet hair away from his face. It’s been weighing on him since...well, since they started this, so he may as well say it. “Why...why me?” 

Soonyoung blinks. “What?” 

“Just...out of everywhere you’ve been, everyone you must have met. Why me?” 

With a tiny shake of his head, Soonyoung cups Wonwoo’s cheek. “...How could it not be you?” he whispers. 

And that snaps something inside Wonwoo, so he hurries to bring his mouth to Soonyoung’s neck, then his chest, licking at the skin that’s still wet from the rain and then at the soaked fabric over one of his nipples. He hears what sounds like Soonyoung’s head falling back against the wall, followed by a drawn out whine. “Take it off, take it off,” Soonyoung mumbles frantically, so he lifts the shirt over Soonyoung’s head and tosses it somewhere behind him, then lets Soonyoung unbutton his shirt and shove it quickly off his shoulders. 

As soon as Wonwoo has pulled Soonyoung onto his bed Soonyoung kisses him, insistently. Wonwoo presses his mouth to the base of his throat and drags it hot and wet across Soonyoung’s chest. This part of Soonyoung isn’t as heavily tattooed as the full canvases of his arms, but Wonwoo traces each inked line with his fingers in between covering the soft, unmarked skin with his lips, leaving marks of his own as Soonyoung whimpers softly. When his hands finally hover at the laces of Soonyoung’s trousers, Soonyoung pushes them back with his own. 

“Hang on, hang on,” he says, sitting up. “The earrings are a hazard,” he explains at Wonwoo’s questioning look. Gingerly, he removes the feather, the chain with the silver moon, the gold with the inlaid rubies, the bell, and finally the key. “Just in case,” he says, breathless and smiling, and then he brandishes the feather. “This got ripped out once. I still have the scar, see?” He turns his head, presenting his earlobe to Wonwoo and brushing his finger along the tiny, jagged line. Wonwoo pushes his hand away and softly puts his lips there, earning a surprised, breathy sound from Soonyoung. He pulls away, smiling, and nudges Soonyoung back onto the bed again so he can get his pants off. 

He does it slowly, listening to Soonyoung’s breath hitch. It’s the first time he’s seen Soonyoung like this, fully undressed, and he’s momentarily overtaken by how lovely he looks in the warm, faint light from Wonwoo’s bedside lamp. “Soonyoung…” he starts, but decides instead to run his hands over Soonyoung’s thighs, his waist, his stomach, his chest. His gaze catches between Soonyoung’s legs and he bites his lip, looking up to meet his eyes again—he’s surprised to find Soonyoung still watching him, his gaze heavy. He takes one of Wonwoo’s hands in his own and squeezes, and it’s so sweet that Wonwoo’s heart clenches. For all Soonyoung’s talk of teasing, Wonwoo can tell he’s nervous now that it’s come down to it—so he sits up on his knees and shimmies out of his own pants, in the hopes that it’ll make Soonyoung feel less vulnerable. Once he has, Soonyoung just whines in the back of his throat, staring openly at him. The desire Wonwoo feels by now is making his head swim, so he bends down to kiss as much of Soonyoung as he can, as fast as he can, until Soonyoung is panting and lifting Wonwoo’s chin, beckoning him back to his lips. 

The rain is still pounding heavy and loud against the roof, but Wonwoo is focused on Soonyoung, and hears every sigh and every sound he lets slip out. His face is cradled just by the tips of Soonyoung’s lightly trembling fingers. When he pulls away, Soonyoung exhales softly, before he smiles. “Get on with it, sailor man,” he says, and Wonwoo grins, reaching toward his nightstand for the aloe he keeps there. As he sits back, settling between Soonyoung’s thighs and watching them fall open for him, he hesitates, raising a hand to push his hair back out of his face. “Is something wrong,” Soonyoung asks, insecurity tingeing his voice. 

“No, no, you’re perfect. There just hasn’t been much of anyone since I came here.” Wonwoo tilts his head to one side, and continues, half-joking. “I do hope I still know what I’m doing.” 

Soonyoung rolls his eyes, laughing. “I don’t think the process has changed much in half a decade, darling.” He pushes himself up on his elbows. “Besides. If we’re both terrible, it must mean we’re perfect for each other.” 

“You aren’t going to be terrible. And you’d be perfect for me no matter what.” 

“Well then,” Soonyoung says, pressing his lips together to stifle his smile, and lets the rest of it hang in the air, unsaid. 

So Wonwoo sets to work getting him ready. Soonyoung’s still less relaxed than he’s letting on, that much is clear when he has to look away from Wonwoo’s face and focus on the ceiling instead. Wonwoo watches closely as his fingers move: Soonyoung’s eyelids flutter, he takes a single deep breath and closes his eyes as he exhales. With his free hand, Wonwoo rubs comfortingly at Soonyoung’s knee—he does it nearly automatically as his attention remains focused on observing Soonyoung’s reactions. His chest rises and falls steadily, too steadily, like he’s concentrating on breathing evenly. Eventually, though, he makes a noise, and his breath comes harder, and his back gives a hint of an arch. When his chin tilts up and his neck stretches back, Wonwoo pauses to clamber over him and set his mouth to it. Soonyoung gasps. “I _swear,_ Wonwoo, if you don’t hurry…” 

Wonwoo does not hurry. Wonwoo’s fingers slow as he finishes biting a bruise into Soonyoung’s neck. Soonyoung whines, and then Wonwoo raises his head. “Kiss,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. It makes Soonyoung laugh, light and clear and tinkly like his bell earring. With an arm around Wonwoo’s neck and the other resting on his chest, somewhere around the start of Vela, he kisses him, smiling, and Wonwoo feels him breathe a sigh into his mouth, feels him relax, completely, at last. “Alright,” he says, to Wonwoo or maybe to himself. “Alright.” 

He isn’t like Wonwoo’s ever seen him, once they’ve started. He gives these tenuous little moans, and he bites his lip and clutches at the sheets and at Wonwoo, but he doesn’t hide his face, can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from Wonwoo’s, fascinated by every tiny effect being inside Soonyoung has on him. On Wonwoo’s part, it’s turned out to be more overwhelming than anticipated: he’s struck by how much he’s _missed_ doing this—wanting to do this—wanting someone. The fact that that someone is Soonyoung threatens to make it all too much, and his head drops forward and he breathes hard, his damp hair falling into his eyes as he fights to focus, to keep moving. Soonyoung’s hands find his face, though, and tilt it up, then thread into his hair. Wonwoo reaches for one and kisses it—Soonyoung interlocks their fingers. Determined, he holds Wonwoo’s gaze even as his cheeks flush red, and meets his movements, panting as they get faster. As Soonyoung squeezes Wonwoo’s hand again, he can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face, and after a moment Soonyoung smiles back, letting out a breathy laugh. It’s choked off by a groan as he throws his head back when Wonwoo touches him, bending down close—Soonyoung wraps his legs around him and draws him closer. It puts spots in his vision and Wonwoo breathes out Soonyoung’s name against his neck. When the spots clear, Soonyoung’s looking at him again. Their noses brush. Soonyoung doesn’t look away. 

  


“I dreamed about you,” is the first thing Soonyoung murmurs after, blinking blissfully up at the ceiling. Wonwoo turns his head toward him. “After we first met. I just kept dreaming about you.” 

“What did you dream about?” 

Now Soonyoung turns onto his side to face him. “Nothing of consequence. You just stayed on my mind. I’d wake up and smell flowers.” He smiles at the memory. “When we came back here I knew I had to see you again. But...I think I’d have come even without the dreams.” He makes his face as serious as he can. “I was _quite_ vexed you didn’t come to the show.” 

Wonwoo laughs. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Soonyoung sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “I understand you better now. It’s alright.” 

“Oh, you _understand_ me better now, do you?” 

“Naturally.” He moves closer, and Wonwoo puts an arm around him. “I think it isn’t that you didn’t _want_ to come...aren’t I right?” 

Of course he’s right. “You are.” Wonwoo pauses as Soonyoung’s hand comes to rest on his chest. “You reminded me of Jeonghan. I mean, something you said did. And I couldn’t see past it, back then.” 

Soonyoung’s fingers move, gently. “What changed?” 

“You came back. So I realized you were nothing like him at all.” Thinking back to when this started is almost irreconcilable to Wonwoo’s mind—it feels like _so_ much has changed, though realistically it’s only Soonyoung. “Do you still dream about me?” he wonders aloud, and Soonyoung hums. 

“How else would I ever willingly fall asleep?” He pushes himself up on his elbows. “What do you dream about?” 

_Not much_ is Wonwoo’s first thought, but it’s only half the truth. “I hardly ever remember. But…” Soonyoung eyes him with interest, eyes bright despite his visible sleepiness. “It’s strange. I can always hear the ocean.” 

“In your dreams?” 

“Mhm. The ones I remember, anyway, even if I’m not at sea. I just...hear waves crashing. Seagulls. I think it has to do with how long I spent constantly hearing it.” Soonyoung’s smiling at him, blinking slowly. Wonwoo scrunches up his nose. “I don’t believe for a second you dreamed _nothing of consequence._ ” 

Soonyoung has one hand absentmindedly stroking Wonwoo’s hair. “You’re losing your touch. I wasn’t lying.” He laughs to himself. “ _Now_ I dream things of consequence.” 

“Like what?” 

“Oh…” Soonyoung sighs. “This and that,” he says, before lying down again. He finds Wonwoo’s hand and laces their fingers together. “A lot of this,” he admits, smiling down at their hands. 

  


~ ~ ~

  


It’s hard to keep Soonyoung away, after that. “Come back to camp with me,” he’ll murmur into Wonwoo’s ear. “I’m too tired to ride back, can’t you stay?” he’ll whine, pouting. “You can’t make me sleep without you,” he’ll whisper, arms around Wonwoo’s neck. 

And always, Wonwoo’s answer is the same. “I’ll be there unless I can’t,” he says. Soonyoung gives him a look. “I don’t want to sleep without you either! I’m only being realistic,” he argues with a smile. 

Soonyoung slinks up in front of him and brings their lips together, which is an entirely unfair tactic. “I hate when you’re realistic,” he says between kisses. Wonwoo can feel his smirk. Unfair. 

“One of us needs to be.” 

“I’m perfectly capable of being realistic when needed. I just think it’s highly overrated, and almost never needed.” 

Pulling back, and further back when Soonyoung tries to chase him with his mouth, Wonwoo grins. “I did say yes, you know.” 

“Good,” Soonyoung sighs, one hand at Wonwoo’s waist and the other sliding up to his chest, looking up at him with those all-too-persuasive eyes, voice low and inviting. “Come back and ignore absolutely everything except for me.” 

_Unfair!_ Wonwoo thinks one last time, but Soonyoung’s mouth is already open against his again. 

So Wonwoo goes, stays just shy of a week at the camp with Soonyoung; ignores absolutely everything except for him. It isn’t hard. He devotes his full attention to the curls of his hair—the swell of his thigh—the dip that runs down his back where his spine is. Even Soonyoung’s bones must be pretty and perfect, he thinks, as he drags one finger down that line, feather-light, watching him shiver involuntarily at his touch. The muscles of Soonyoung’s back flex slowly beneath his tattoos, and Wonwoo makes sure to pay attention to that too. Wonwoo moves closer, and presses a kiss to the base of Soonyoung’s neck, just over a round, intricate symbol his mouth has memorized despite not knowing what it means. “You’re beautiful,” Wonwoo whispers. 

Soonyoung turns his head toward Wonwoo’s voice. “I’m yours,” he responds, eyes half shut. 

It’s things like that that make Wonwoo have to swallow down the fire simmering inside him. 

Most of their time is spent within Soonyoung’s tent—they take their meals outside with the rest of the troupe, eventually Soonyoung performs and Wonwoo gives him his full attention again, and then it’s back to the tent where his skin becomes a shoreline and Soonyoung’s lips are high tide; or maybe his body is a sail, and Soonyoung is the wind, pressing against him and urging him forward. At this point, Wonwoo can barely hear the teasing about the marks on his neck or the state of his hair when they stumble out of the tent together. He just smiles. That’s right, he thinks. _I’m his._ He doesn’t bother wearing his vest, and does his shirt up three buttons short of all the way. At night, Soonyoung is usually too tired and sore after performing, but a time or two he still ends up pushing Wonwoo into the plush grass beneath the floor of the tent and climbing on top of him, adrenaline-fueled, until the air is sticky with their breath and their sweat. The other times he lays there, half awake, and Wonwoo traces the lines of his body, his hands soft and exploring and soothing to Soonyoung’s muscles. Soonyoung has taken to holding Wonwoo, pressed up against his back, when they finally sleep. He tends to lay his cheek or his forehead right where Wonwoo’s shoulder meets his neck, above his shoulder blade, and every warm breath that puffs across Wonwoo’s skin reminds Wonwoo of ocean breeze on his face—in the way that it’s the polar opposite, which makes him long for it. 

...Not that he’s so keen to trade Soonyoung’s breath on his neck for it. 

Sometimes, when Soonyoung has to practice, Wonwoo will busy himself around the camp, mostly helping to cook. It’s nice—it’s familiar. He brings produce to camp and helps prepare it and it gives him a tiny glimmer of his home when he’s here. Moreover, that glimmer comes without the recent claustrophobia, or the sickly sweet smell. He’s still not sure what to make of those, as he’s been rather distracted. It’s strange—he barely even thinks of his garden at all anymore when he’s away. When he’d first started spending the night, it gave him pause, at least a little. Now it’s nothing. It’ll still be there when he gets back, after all, sprawling and too small, beautiful and terrifying. 

Terrifying is a new one. He can’t remember ever being _terrified_ by it. 

Jisoo is particularly talkative one day while they’re cooking. “You’re good for him, I think,” he says, out of nowhere. 

“I hope so,” Wonwoo replies, not thinking much of it. Jisoo continues, though. 

“He hasn’t had someone _good_ for him since...I don’t even know. Maybe never.” That makes Wonwoo look up, but Jisoo’s still focused on peeling potatoes. “The thing about Soonyoung is that just about everyone falls in love with him on sight—only it isn’t real. He’s...a prize, for most people. ‘Look what I got, isn’t he pretty.’” Jisoo’s soft, sweet voice shouldn’t be saying these words, Wonwoo thinks—but he’s always had the feeling Jisoo was darker than he seemed. “And Soonyoung gives people a thousand chances, because he wants to be in love.” He smiles down at his hands, then meets Wonwoo’s eyes. “He loves having you around. We all do, but he...really loves having you around.” 

The dark part of the conversation is over, Wonwoo guesses. “He tends to make that apparent,” he says with a grin, which Jisoo returns, eyes sparkling. 

“You should stay here more often. I know it isn’t that simple for you, but you should.” 

_I know it isn’t that simple for you._ The memory of his first meeting with Jisoo surfaces in Wonwoo’s mind. “Did you…” he starts, and shakes his head, laughing a little at the ridiculousness of what he’s about to ask. “Did you...know...that this would happen?” 

One corner of Jisoo’s mouth lifts up in a smirk. “I _did_ give you the family discount.” 

Wonwoo huffs, bemused. “I thought you were so absolutely full of shit back then.” 

Jisoo nudges him playfully with his elbow. “Finally coming around, are you?” 

“...Something like that.” 

His conversation with Jisoo sticks in his head, that day, all day long. Not just the parts about himself, although he does think he’ll have to set aside some time to parse those out. The parts about Soonyoung are what really keep him thinking. Wonwoo knows he’s quiet through dinner, because Soonyoung is quieter too, to match him. It isn’t until they’re alone in their tent (because it’s their tent, now,) that he voices his thoughts. 

“I didn’t want to ask before,” he starts, “but...when you said you’re not used to boys being kind to you…” He says it slowly, because he’s not sure if he should be saying it at all, and he wants to give Soonyoung the chance to tell him to shut up. 

Of course Soonyoung doesn’t, though. He smiles, of all things, and shakes his head. “Don’t you worry about that. I’m alright.” He sees the way Wonwoo chews on his lip, though, and takes his hand. “Sometimes, you know...things happen. Sometimes people you think are good...aren’t,” he finishes simply. Wonwoo studies his face carefully as he lifts one hand to brush through Wonwoo’s hair—he doesn’t look uncomfortable, or upset, but he doesn’t seem to want to discuss it. 

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says softly, catching Soonyoung’s hand and bringing it down to hold. “We don’t have to talk about it.” 

Another of Soonyoung’s quiet smiles. “We will, someday.” That’s good enough for Wonwoo, so he nods, and lets it go. 

As Soonyoung is changing into his sleep clothes, though, Wonwoo clears his throat. When Soonyoung turns to him, he asks: “No one here, though? Right? No one in the carnival?” 

Soonyoung laughs. “Heavens, no.” He turns away again, and Wonwoo catches the hint of a smirk. “No one _still_ in the carnival.” When he’s done changing, he walks on his knees over to where Wonwoo sits. “I’m really fine. Especially now, with you here. I’m—I’m really _very_ glad you’re here.” He leans forward and pecks Wonwoo on the lips, shorter than most of their recent kisses, but just as sweet. 

“And still not going anywhere,” Wonwoo assures him, Jisoo’s words still weighing on his mind. He forgets that Soonyoung doesn’t remember that conversation, the one where he’d asked Wonwoo to stay with him. 

Soonyoung only bites his lip, and smiles, and looks down as his ears turn cherry red. 

  


There are times, every now and then, when Wonwoo’s garden doesn’t seem so small; when the strange feeling of the tree trunks closing in around him isn’t nearly as strong. Most of these times are by the pond. Soonyoung rummages through Wonwoo’s closet for a blanket the next time he visits, and spreads it out underneath their tree when they’ve made their way there. He kicks off his boots, and Wonwoo does the same. They talk for a bit, catch up on the half-day they’ve spent without each other, Soonyoung insisting on feeding Wonwoo raspberries between every sentence. (He’d packed the picnic basket himself, and when Wonwoo glanced inside he’d pretended not to notice the sunflower oil he’d clearly taken from Wonwoo’s nightstand.) It isn’t long before Soonyoung has inched closer, and closer, almost without Wonwoo noticing, and leans in to kiss him. He stops just short, though, doesn’t bring their lips together—instead he smiles, his eyes flickering between Wonwoo’s eyes and his mouth. Wonwoo knows this trick. Soonyoung will tease him with the lightest brush of his lips, run his hands over Wonwoo’s shoulders and chest, reach down and touch Wonwoo through his trousers until he caves, his hands finding the sides of Soonyoung’s face as he roughly closes the tiny distance between them. Instead, though, and to Soonyoung’s apparent surprise, Wonwoo climbs into his lap. “Want you this time,” he murmurs, and Soonyoung’s eyes go wide. 

“Really,” comes his incredulous voice, and Wonwoo nods, and this time it’s Soonyoung holding Wonwoo by the back of the neck and kissing him, hard enough that he thinks his lips might bruise. “I absolutely, _completely_ fucking adore you,” he practically growls into their kiss, and Wonwoo shivers. 

The way Soonyoung watches him—really _looks_ at him as he moves—Wonwoo thinks he understands his occasional shyness a bit better. 

After, they lie down together, the sun warming their skin. Soonyoung looks serenely at Wonwoo, stroking his hair and rubbing at his chest, moving to kiss his shoulder. Eventually he speaks. 

“I would do anything for you, you know.” His voice is soft, his lips turning up gently at the corners. “I never want to be without you.” Wonwoo knows Soonyoung sees his face fall, because Soonyoung’s face falls as well, like the sun setting. It’s just that Wonwoo’s been putting this off, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can. “Don’t...don’t you feel the same?” Soonyoung asks, terrified, barely above a whisper. 

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Of course I do. Of course I do, Soonyoung.” 

“...Then what’s the matter?” 

Casting his eyes down, Wonwoo swallows thickly. “I wish I could give you more,” he says. 

Soonyoung’s hand cups his cheek. “You give me plenty, dear. Things I didn’t realize I was missing.” When Wonwoo looks up Soonyoung is smiling, but it doesn’t look happy. 

“I…” Soonyoung’s eyebrows have drawn toward each other in concern. “I think that’s true, for now, but eventually you won’t be able to get everything you need from me.” As he says it, he looks away, because he’s a coward. He just can’t bear to see his words hurt Soonyoung, and he knows they will. 

Next to him, Soonyoung sits up very suddenly. “What does _that_ mean?” 

Wonwoo sits up as well, but keeps his eyes on the ground. “Soon the carnival will move on, and you’ll go with it.” A deep breath, and then he looks up. It hurts as much as he expected, and more. “And it’s alright, I know—I mean, you aren’t meant to stay in one place. It’s who you are.” 

Warily, Soonyoung bites his lip, because he can’t argue. 

But it still hurts to see him that way. Wonwoo places his hands on either side of his face. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to lie to me. I know you’ll leave. It’s alright.” 

Soonyoung’s face goes blank, and he stares at Wonwoo in silence until his eyes flash angry. He pushes Wonwoo’s hands away. “That’s terrible. That’s—that’s a terrible thing to say.” 

“Why?” Wonwoo asks, frantic. “I don’t mean it to be terrible, I’m only being—” 

“Realistic?” Soonyoung scoffs, eyes nearly black. Wonwoo deflates. He’s often wondered how far Soonyoung’s kindness and patience would stretch for someone like him, someone who stays rooted in one place. This far, apparently. Soonyoung stands, then, pulling on his clothes hurriedly. “I need to rehearse. I’ll see you tonight, I guess.” His voice is cold. It sounds so, so wrong. 

Soonyoung pauses on his way out of the glade, but Wonwoo lets him go. He doesn’t know what to say. 

That night, he doesn’t go to the show—he shows up at camp once it’s already begun and crawls into Soonyoung’s tent to wait. Still, he hasn’t figured out what to say, how to apologize, if he even can. He draws his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them. 

Soonyoung pauses as he ducks inside and notices Wonwoo, and sighs, but continues. He sits down, exhausted, and leans back against one of his trunks. Neither of them say anything. Wonwoo doesn’t know where to begin. The silence remains. 

“You’re right that I won’t stay here forever,” Soonyoung says after a bit, suddenly, startling Wonwoo. “You’re wrong about the rest.” Wonwoo grinds his teeth. “Aren’t we together, Wonwoo? Aren’t you mine and I’m yours?” 

“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate to answer, though his voice is small. This he knows. This he doesn’t doubt. It’s the other part, the leaving, the part he’s had ingrained into his bones for the last half decade. 

Quietly, Soonyoung shifts, moving a bit closer to Wonwoo in the darkness. “I haven’t _gone_ anywhere yet,” he says, placing his hand over one of Wonwoo’s, moving it away again when Wonwoo’s fist clenches. “And when I do, it...it doesn’t mean I’ll never come back. The carnival only travels a few months out of the year. I know I told you there’s work to be done in the off season but...really, I’m entitled to some free time as well.” There’s a smile in his voice, now, a softness. Pity, maybe, if he’s realized by now that this is only half about him. Wonwoo’s eyebrows lower. “And it doesn’t _matter._ We can be together no matter where I am. How do you think soldiers do it? Or ship captains?” 

Eyes dark, Wonwoo looks up at Soonyoung. “I _know_ how ship captains do it. They tend to leave the waiting and the pining to the person they leave behind.” 

Soonyoung licks his lips, then sighs. Silently and quickly, he changes out of his costume and into his plain shirt, the striped pants Wonwoo loves. He pats Wonwoo on the arm. “Come with me.” Lifting his chin off of his knees, Wonwoo doesn’t respond, just looks at Soonyoung. “Come on, get up.”

“Where?”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Wonwoo sighs. “Of course.”

“Then follow me.”

So he does. He takes Soonyoung’s hand and lets him lead him out of the camp, toward the town, through the darkened streets. After a few minutes of walking, Wonwoo, with a jolt, recognizes the path. This may not be his hometown, but Wonwoo has been to every port city along the coast, and he could still find his way to the ocean blindfolded. “Soonyoung—” 

“You said you trust me,” Soonyoung says, eyes plaintive and sincere. “We aren’t going to the docks. Just the beach.” Wonwoo’s heart thuds, and his feet drag. Soonyoung stops, takes his face in his hands. “It won’t bite. It’s only water. No different than our pond.” But it’s so, so different from their pond, in so many ways it’s overwhelming. “Your pond, I mean,” Soonyoung says, casting his eyes down. He lets go of Wonwoo’s face and takes his hand again. 

Wonwoo takes a step, then another. After another minute or so of walking, he speaks. “‘Ours’ is fine. If you want to share it.” 

Soonyoung grins, shakily. “I want to share everything, Wonwoo. That’s why we’re here.” 

And here they are. Wonwoo feels Soonyoung squeeze his hand and braces himself as he looks toward the water—but the feeling he was expecting, the overwhelming sadness or confusion or heartbreak—it doesn’t come. He breathes in the smell of the ocean for the first time in years and then exhales it shakily. When he glances toward Soonyoung, he’s biting his lip and watching him closely. Waiting. “Okay?” he asks, whisper-soft. 

Wonwoo nods, and finds, surprisingly, that it isn’t a lie. A small hand grasps his own, and Soonyoung smiles. 

They sit down in the sand, far enough back from the surf to make sure Wonwoo stays fine. There’s nothing but the sound of the waves for a few minutes, as they gaze out toward the horizon. Wonwoo is too conscious of every sensation and detail—the sand beneath his boots. The moon reflected in the water. The warmth of Soonyoung next to him. He’d thought, once, that he’d spend forever at sea; that eventually he’d rid himself of the need to return to land for anything other than supplies, or repairs. He’d find a ship of his own and make it his home, fall asleep with the gentle rolling of the waves beneath him and the sounds of wind and water around him. Now he’s here on the shore and he can’t even bear to let the waves lap at his boots. Just as Wonwoo is sinking into this train of thought, Soonyoung interrupts. 

“I’ve never seen it this close. It’s beautiful.” Wonwoo feels Soonyoung turn his head and train his gaze on him, but doesn’t meet his eyes. “It reminds me of you.” 

Wonwoo laughs. “It reminds me of _you._ ” The weight of Soonyoung’s head presses against Wonwoo’s shoulder, and Wonwoo feels him sigh lightly. He swallows, searching for the words, as Soonyoung’s thumb moves across his own, back and forth. “I thought if I gave you permission it would hurt less,” he manages eventually. Soonyoung’s thumb freezes. “I’m sorry. I know we can still be together. I just don’t know what I’ll do.” He sniffles, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes, and scratches under his nose, mostly for something to do. “You make me feel like myself and I’m scared if you leave that’ll go with you.” 

Soonyoung sighs, and sits up. “Sailor man…” He moves, situates himself so he’s facing Wonwoo. “Some of the things you say...about your home, and your past, and yourself…” He pauses, like whatever he says is going to upset Wonwoo. “It just worries me. The way you talk about those things.” The breeze blows Wonwoo’s bangs into his eyes, and one of Soonyoung’s hands raises to brush them back into place, then cup his cheek. His eyes harden with determination. “You know you can leave, right? Your house. Your garden. Whenever you wanted. You could leave. You don’t have to stay there just because...just because it's where you’ve been.” 

And that’s it, isn’t it? That’s what all of this is about? If he didn’t feel like he had to stay, he wouldn’t have to worry about Soonyoung leaving him behind. What is it that’s keeping him there, anyway? It’s the same feeling he’d had the first time Soonyoung invited him to watch him perform—it’s just _there,_ solid and immovable, sitting in his chest like an anchor. It’s just the way it is. This is the way things are. 

He takes Soonyoung’s hands in his, bringing them down from his face and holding them in his lap. He looks at them, smaller and warmer than his own, callused from years gripping the trapeze. “Do you know what a Fata Morgana is?” he asks. Soonyoung shakes his head when Wonwoo looks up at him. “They’re illusions that happen at sea, on the horizon. Like a mirage. Made of...reflections of real things? But stretched out, or floating, or distorted.” He glances at Soonyoung again, who’s listening, the way he always does. “Sometimes I think...the way I’ve been seeing my life just hasn’t been...the way it really is? I didn’t notice until the tarot reading, really. But it’s...like I can’t focus enough to see it. When I start to figure it out it just slips away. Have you ever felt like that?” 

Another shake of Soonyoung’s head, and a look of concern on his face. “No.” That hardly surprises Wonwoo—most things about Soonyoung are sure, collected, confident. “Why do you think you feel that way?” 

“I don’t know. It’s just...when I think about how I used to be, and how I am now, and how I’ve been since I, you know…” He trails off. Soonyoung knows that part by now. “It’s...disorienting. Things go fuzzy.” Soonyoung’s eyes are heavy on him, and Wonwoo huffs out a laugh. “So, that should clear up all your worries, then. My strange, unexplainable...whatever the fuck this is.” 

In the distance, Wonwoo can see what must be a lighthouse, guiding home whatever ships happen upon it in the darkness. “Doesn’t it scare you, Wonwoo?” Soonyoung asks. 

“It should, shouldn’t it?” Without realizing, his voice has dropped to a whisper. Soonyoung leans closer. “But that’s the thing. It’s just...there. And I think it’s been there for a long time, and I’m only just starting to realize.” He looks back to the ocean. “It’s starting to scare me, I think.” 

A look of concern flickers across Soonyoung’s face, before he smiles, and sits up straight. “Well, we’re going to fix it. Whatever it is. I’ll help you figure it out, I promise.” 

“And when you leave?” 

Soonyoung looks at him, and his grin turns wicked and cocky. “You’ve _far_ too little faith in me,” he says. “We’ll have it sorted long before then.” Wonwoo can’t help but smile back. Soonyoung tends to do that to him. Maybe Soonyoung is part ocean, part lighthouse. “How do you feel now? Being...here?” 

It’s strange, honestly. He’d expected so much. He’d expected to double over in pain, he’d expected to scream until his throat was raw—internally, at the very least. “I thought it would wreck me,” he says, and laughs a bit. “I always thought it would be so _hard._ But it just—” The tiny flame in Wonwoo’s chest crackles happily, despite everything, despite how out of reach the sea feels, even two yards away. Wonwoo closes his eyes and listens to the surf. “It’s the same as it’s always been. It feels the same.” It isn’t the ocean that’s changed, after all. 

Soonyoung hooks his arm through Wonwoo’s. “Good, then?” 

Without looking away from the horizon, Wonwoo nods. He isn’t smiling, so he’s sure it can’t be very convincing, but it’s true. Knowing the sea is still here after all this time...it quiets something in his heart—or maybe the opposite. Maybe his heart has been too quiet this whole time, so this un-quiets it, because somehow it hadn’t felt like something as wide and grand as the sea would still be waiting for him. Maybe that had been the only way he could convince himself he couldn’t return to it. His brow furrows. Will these revelations last, once he gets home, once he can’t smell the ocean anymore? He turns to Soonyoung, takes in for the first time the sight of him on the beach, sea breeze mussing his hair, the ocean stretching for miles and miles and miles in front of them. “Are you still angry with me?” 

Soonyoung only smiles, softly, and leans in to press his lips to Wonwoo’s, letting them linger there for what feels like an eternity. Finally, he pulls away, and Wonwoo can feel how his breath seems to tremble. “No,” he says, shaking his head, and the way he looks at Wonwoo makes him tremble too. The realization washes over Wonwoo that Soonyoung holds every last part of him: the parts he’s touched, the parts he’s kissed, the parts he doesn’t know yet. Wonwoo knows he holds some of Soonyoung as well, and hopes he can carry it safely: without stumbling, without letting it slip through his clumsy fingers. 

  


Wonwoo wakes before Soonyoung. It’s rare he gets to see him so still, so completely silent. They’d returned from the beach and Wonwoo had felt like the path had been lined with hot coals—he’d felt more awake than he probably has in years, and he’d set his mouth and his tongue to parts of Soonyoung that made Soonyoung writhe and cry out and shake. He’d been beautiful. Now he’s completely still, and just as beautiful. The perpetual bruises from his routines, the burn scars from fire tricks gone wrong, the freckles scattered across his nose, the press of his soft cheek into the pillow. Wonwoo can’t even bring himself to care that he’s mostly stolen the covers, despite Wonwoo being completely un-used to that after so many nights alone. He wants to reach out and touch, but he’d done so much of that last night.

“I can tell you’re staring,” Soonyoung says suddenly, eyes still closed. 

Wonwoo smiles. “Bullshit. Lucky guess.” 

His eyes still don’t open, but the corners of his mouth twitch. “If it is, it’s only because you’re so often staring at me.” 

Shaking his head, Wonwoo finally reaches out and runs one fingertip along Soonyoung’s jaw. “Not staring. Just looking.” Soonyoung extracts his arms from the covers. “Admiring.” 

Soonyoung opens his eyes, finally, and laughs groggily before turning over out of sight. “I’m asleep,” he mumbles. Wonwoo’s heart is so, so full. He presses a kiss to Soonyoung’s tanned, tattooed shoulder, and starts to get up, turning to find his clothes—until he hears a quiet “wait.” He turns to see Soonyoung, blinking drowsily up at him, covers halfway down his bare torso. “Come back,” he says, stretching out and smiling in this way he has, that he _thinks_ gives the impression of shyness, but in reality gives the impression of anything but. He bites his lip. God, Wonwoo loves him like this. “That was hardly a proper good morning,” he says. Wonwoo just loves him. Soonyoung drags him down, and their lips meet, and Wonwoo’s in love with him. 

It settles over him as the sun rises, as its light slowly seeps through the tent flap, casting one thin sliver of gold across Soonyoung’s body. _Love me back,_ Wonwoo thinks as he kisses him—pours it into Soonyoung’s mouth with his own, presses it into his skin with his fingers. _Please, please, please._ He’d whisper it against Soonyoung’s ear if it wasn’t so new, if it didn’t frighten him so. 

This will have to do. 

 

_**iii. hold fast**_

There’s a day not long after that when Soonyoung wakes up and stares at the ceiling instead of greeting Wonwoo. “Are you alright,” Wonwoo murmurs, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. 

“I just have this feeling,” he whispers, but Wonwoo kisses him, and touches him, and he smiles, forgetting all about it. 

The day passes normally—happily, even. Soonyoung keeps his arm hooked through Wonwoo’s and his chin resting on Wonwoo’s shoulder for most of it. They feed the horses together, and Soonyoung tells Wonwoo a story of a horse who sprouted wings, and made the king of the birds jealous. It’s a good day, lovely and bright, and it only serves to make Wonwoo fall more in love, to make him want to spend all his days this way. 

By the time Soonyoung drags Wonwoo into the tent to watch rehearsal, the strange feeling from the morning is miles away from both of their minds. Soonyoung and Minghao are practicing another of their new tricks and at some point, Hansol pokes his head inside and calls to Wonwoo, asking if he’d like to help make dinner. He nods, saying he’ll be there in a moment, yells to Soonyoung that he’ll be back, and heads out of the tent. Wonwoo waves to Kyungwon as he passes her; says hello to Seokmin; nods to Sojin. 

He doesn’t get far, and he’s still smiling when the shouts fill the air. Confused, he stops and turns on his heel to find a horde of people piling into the tent, save for Chan, who’s fighting the current to get out. He sees Wonwoo and his face contorts and Wonwoo’s heart leaps into his throat, before it breaks. 

Early on, Jisoo had remarked to Wonwoo that “Shooting Star” was a bit of a misnomer for a trapeze artist. He hadn’t thought anything of it, just given a small _ah_ of acknowledgment. 

Not that it would have prepared him. 

As Chan approaches him, Wonwoo starts shaking his head, and takes a step backward on unsteady legs. “He’s alright,” Chan is saying, and he puts a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder that Wonwoo has to fight the urge to shrug away. “He’s alright. But—” But. 

“What about the _fucking_ net?” Wonwoo asks. 

“He landed in it. Just...wrong, he landed wrong. He was too high up and Minghao _tried_ to catch him but he just, he landed _wrong._ ” He looks at the ground as he says it, eyes wide. “Come on.” 

By the time they’ve made it to the tent, everyone else is being shooed out. Minghao is holding onto Haebin, repeating “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t, I swear, I didn’t mean to.” Wonwoo turns to Chan. 

“Should we—? I don’t know if he’ll…should we wait?” 

Chan shakes his head. “He’ll want you. I don’t know if he’ll like you seeing him like this, but...he’ll want you with him. He’ll be glad you’re with him.” He should have been there all along, Wonwoo thinks, but he can’t help but be grateful, in a way, that he didn’t see it happen. 

So Wonwoo enters the tent, his eyes searching out Soonyoung immediately. He’s leaning against Yewon, his back to her chest, his face red and contorted. Wonwoo’s legs threaten to give out from under him. Jisoo is knelt next to Soonyoung, one hand moving from his calf to his knee—Soonyoung cries out. Wonwoo rushes over silently, crouches beside him silently, slides a hand into his silently. There’s no reaction from Soonyoung, besides a hard, _hard_ squeeze of Wonwoo’s hand. He lets himself glance at Yewon, who’s crying. She shakes her head at him, and Wonwoo has no idea what to make of it, but she looks distraught. Wonwoo feels as though all the blood has drained from his face, and blinks as he turns toward Jisoo. 

He’s still feeling around Soonyoung’s knee. Wonwoo doesn’t know what he’s doing or what he’s looking for, doesn’t understand how he can tell what’s wrong just from this. Soonyoung’s head falls back against Yewon’s shoulder and he whimpers, teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut. He’s panting. Jisoo looks up, sweat shining on his brow, and addresses Wonwoo when he notices him. “I think it’s fractured.” 

“You _think?”_ Wonwoo and Soonyoung say, at the same time. Soonyoung continues, spitting out “I’ve _had_ fucking _fractures,_ Jisoo, I know what it feels like—” 

Yewon wraps her arms tight around his shoulders. “You’ve had small cracks, sprains…” Jisoo says, trailing off. “This is broken." 

Exhaling hard through his nose, Wonwoo shakes his head. “He needs a hospital.” 

For the first time since he arrived, Soonyoung looks at him. “I don’t.” His head whips toward Jisoo. “I’ll be fine, right?” 

Jisoo doesn’t speak, just stares back at Soonyoung, chewing the inside of his cheek. The muscles in Soonyoung’s face twitch, in pain, and confusion, and desperation. “I need to splint it,” Jisoo says, and then turns to Chan. “Run and get my bag.” 

“Jisoo,” Soonyoung says again, his voice shaking. “It’s _fine,_ right?” 

“Soonyoung,” Jisoo says, exhaustion from just the effort and stress of the last few minutes evident in his voice. “I don’t know. There’s no way for me to see inside your leg and find out for sure what it looks like unless I cut you open.” Frantically, Soonyoung’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. Jisoo’s eyes raise to meet Wonwoo’s again. “It—it _feels_ like a clean break. You’re welcome to try to get him to see a doctor, but I—” 

“If it’s a clean break, they can’t do anything more than you.” Soonyoung’s voice is surprisingly steady, and Wonwoo notices suddenly that he hasn’t been crying. 

Jisoo smiles, tight-lipped, at Soonyoung, and turns back to Wonwoo. “He’s right. They’ll splint it, put it in a cast, give him medicine. All of which—” He whirls around as Chan comes sprinting back into the tent. “Oh, good, Chan, set it down here…” 

While Jisoo busies himself going through his bag and sitting out his supplies, Wonwoo holds Soonyoung’s hand in both of his own. He brings it to his lips, and Soonyoung turns, looking up to him. Wonwoo kisses his forehead just as Jisoo swears. He’s just pulled a small brown bottle out of his bag, and he’s peering into it. 

“Soonyoung, here,” he says, holding it out to Soonyoung. “Drink all of it. It should be just enough to help, for awhile.” Soonyoung does, without hesitating, and hands the bottle back. “Chan, take this to Haebin, tell her to go find Minki—” Chan’s looking at Soonyoung with his lip caught between his teeth. “— _Listen,_ Chan, Choi Minki, he doesn’t live far. We need more of this,” he says, and shakes the bottle for emphasis, “as fast as he can get it. Hopefully he has some on hand, and if not...hopefully he has some on hand.” 

Quietly, Soonyoung speaks. “Take Peanut. She’s the fastest.” His chest rises and falls, and he screws up his face as he tries to shift his position—but he’s clearly still in pain. He hasn’t let go of Wonwoo’s hand, and Yewon hasn’t let go of him. Slumping a little, he lets out a sigh. The medicine must be working. His head tilts up, and he shakes it slowly. “Wonwoo,” he whispers, pleading for something Wonwoo can’t give. 

“It’s alright,” Wonwoo responds, instantly. “You’re alright. You could be a pile of guts, remember? Everything broken but your pinky?” Soonyoung smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s something. Soonyoung’s bangs are damp with sweat, and Wonwoo pushes them back, away from his face. He half pays attention as Jisoo prepares his supplies down by Soonyoung’s knee, mostly focused on Soonyoung—whose eyes have gone glassy. He blinks up at Wonwoo, but Wonwoo thinks he probably isn’t seeing much. The iron grip he’s had on Wonwoo’s hand has begun to loosen. 

“Soonyoung,” Jisoo says, a little too loud, to compensate for Soonyoung’s mental state after taking the medicine. “This is going to hurt like—well, like a fucking bitch.” 

Soonyoung laughs, far away. “Better do it fast, then.” 

It doesn’t go fast, and Soonyoung can’t stop from whimpering pathetically in pain even through the medicine, and Wonwoo can’t stand to watch Jisoo work, but it’s almost harder to look at Soonyoung’s face. 

They cancel the show that night, dimming the lights in the tent for their fallen star. Wonwoo stands just off to the side as Seungcheol, Haebin, and Jisoo discuss what will happen. He can’t perform, obviously. Apparently the break in his knee is just near the joint, and apparently that could make healing easier, or harder, Jisoo says there’s no way to tell. Seungcheol brings up losing their showstopper, but doesn’t seem worried, as he thinks Minghao can probably handle Soonyoung’s harder tricks—Haebin snaps at him, saying it isn’t the time for anyone to be practicing anything more dangerous than what they’re used to. After that, the conversation fades in and out for Wonwoo—his mind is on Soonyoung, asleep for the moment, his leg wrapped up tight and propped on a crate. Yewon hasn’t left his side, still. Wonwoo is only out here because they asked him to come, and it’s only when he hears his name that his mind returns to the conversation. 

“I don’t want him sleeping on the ground,” Jisoo is saying. “And it’s not like he needs to be here anyway. Wonwoo?” 

He looks up, his mind stuck on how easily they’re discussing Soonyoung’s shattered livelihood. “What?” 

“Can he stay with you?” 

Wonwoo blinks, then his eyes fall to the ground again. “Of course,” he says, because—well, of course. But it isn’t how he wants to be bringing Soonyoung home with him. 

Seungcheol and Jisoo take them back in one of the carts. Soonyoung is quiet, so quiet, because he hadn’t needed the _talk_ Seungcheol had given him to know he was being taken off the roster. A carnival is a family, but it’s also a business: performers who can’t perform get replaced by someone who can, and relegated to ticket taking, or crowd control, or street magic. The way Soonyoung sees it, though, there’s no point in any of that, no point if he’s not hundreds of feet in the air, risking his life night after night to waves of deafening applause. But he can’t do that with his knee the way it is, can’t even _try_ for what sounds like a very long time—if it gives out on him at the wrong time, he’s dead. If his trajectory is off by an inch, he’s dead. Hyperextend it once, twist it just once, and he could do even worse damage—and that’s all _if_ he’s able to try again. None of that stops Soonyoung from wanting to ignore it and keep going, but the family has forced him to rest and he can’t argue. 

Decommissioned, Wonwoo thinks, when the cart hits a bump and Soonyoung hisses in pain. 

After fifteen long minutes of silence, Soonyoung finally speaks. “This is it,” he says. He doesn’t look at Wonwoo, just stares off into the distance, into the darkness. “The fucking Tower. This is it.” He doesn’t say anything else. Wonwoo doesn’t say anything back. What can he _say?_

When they’ve arrived, Seungcheol and Jisoo help Wonwoo tidy up his parents’ old room, on the first floor. Wonwoo dusts everything off so Soonyoung can breathe easy, and runs to change the old sheets for his clean spare set. Once they’ve taken Soonyoung inside on his crutches and helped him into bed, Wonwoo returns to his porch to see them off. Jisoo has written down everything he needs to know, but assures him they’ll be in to check on him. “It’s too much to ask,” he says, and Wonwoo shakes his head. 

Seungcheol, imposing in his way, is softer now than Wonwoo’s ever seen him. “Try to…” he starts, trailing off. “This could so easily be the end of him, Wonwoo. Don’t let it ruin him.” 

“I’m not going to,” Wonwoo asserts, setting his jaw. “I won’t.” 

“Wonwoo,” Jisoo says. Wonwoo’s sick of people who aren’t Soonyoung saying his name. “Minki can’t get any more medicine until tomorrow morning. I’ll send someone with it as soon as I can, but...this will not be an easy night. If you don’t...think you’re up to it, it’s completely understandable. I can stay if you want.” 

It nearly sets Wonwoo’s blood boiling, for some reason. It wouldn’t be _easy_ if Soonyoung drank all the medicine in the world. He shakes his head, muttering, distracted and anxious to get back inside. “I don’t care about any of that, I’m fine, I love him, I’m going to take care of him.” 

They leave, after that, and then it’s just Wonwoo and Soonyoung. 

Wonwoo finds the light switch and flicks it upward—the light flickers a few times before finding the gumption to stay on. Wonwoo feels similarly close to burning out. He crouches down next to the bed, eyeing Soonyoung’s knee warily, before letting his eyes trail back to his face. He isn’t looking at Wonwoo, having fallen into a thousand-yard stare at an old wardrobe in the corner of the room as he leans his back against the headboard. Not knowing what else to do, and knowing there’s nothing he can say, Wonwoo takes one of Soonyoung’s hands in both of his own. Soonyoung blinks, seemingly coming back to himself a bit, and looks down at his hand, and then up to Wonwoo. When he does, he looks miserable, _empty,_ not himself in the slightest. Wonwoo raises up onto his knees and places a hand on Soonyoung’s cheek—Soonyoung’s hand curls around his wrist and his eyes close, his brow wrinkling. “Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says. “I’m here.” 

After a few moments, Soonyoung’s eyes open, and he looks at Wonwoo, his lip trembling just barely. As quickly and carefully as he can, Wonwoo climbs into the bed next to Soonyoung on the side opposite his knee and holds him, barely getting his arms wrapped around him before he’s buried his face in Wonwoo’s chest. He cries like Wonwoo has never seen anyone cry, sobs until he shakes, and Wonwoo lets him soak his vest in tears and snot and when he’s taken that off he lets him soak his shirt as well. He doesn’t let go of him, just holds him tight and lets him cry, and eventually Soonyoung falls asleep against him, his face puffy and red, but peaceful, finally. Wonwoo lays there with him for—he’s not even sure how long, aching from how in love he is and how helpless he is to do anything for Soonyoung besides be there. 

When Soonyoung wakes up, it’s after Wonwoo has managed to doze off a bit—he can’t have been out for more than half an hour, and only when he absolutely couldn’t hold his eyelids open. The small whimper Soonyoung lets out is what jolts Wonwoo back to reality. The medicine must be wearing off by now. “Hey,” Wonwoo whispers into Soonyoung’s hair. 

Soonyoung clears his throat, tries to reposition himself but gives up quickly. “It hurts,” he responds to Wonwoo’s greeting. 

“I know.” Wonwoo sits up so he can see Soonyoung better, watch him for signs of—anything, he supposes. 

His face contorts, slowly. “It _really_ hurts,” he says, his voice breaking. 

“Do you—do you want any water, or something?” 

Soonyoung nods, his eyes closed, so Wonwoo hurries to the kitchen. He brings back a cup of tea, as well, and finds that Soonyoung has started to sweat when he returns. It must hurt terribly. He doesn’t respond when Wonwoo comes back in, and Wonwoo thinks maybe he’s trying to go back to sleep, so he gingerly sits down the drinks, places a kiss on Soonyoung’s forehead, and starts to leave. 

“No, no, where are you going?” he hears behind him, and finds Soonyoung having sat up to the best of his ability. 

“I thought I’d let you sleep.” 

“You’re not sleeping here?” 

“I don’t want to end up hurting you on accident.” 

Soonyoung shakes his head. “You won’t, Wonwoo, please don’t go," he begs desperately. "Don’t make me sleep without you.” 

Of course, Wonwoo isn’t going to deny him. So he settles in next to him again. He places his hand on Soonyoung’s forehead, hoping it’s some semblance of cool and soothing. “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep at all,” he murmurs. Soonyoung laughs, one single mirthless huff, and grimaces in pain. “Jisoo will have more medicine tomorrow. You only have to make it through tonight. You can do that for me, can’t you?” 

As Wonwoo speaks, Soonyoung’s eyes close again. “For you,” he sighs. He feels for Wonwoo’s hand, eventually lacing their fingers together, and squeezes. “Just stay with me.” 

And as terrible as it is, Wonwoo feels warm, and needed, and _loved_ —he doesn’t sleep, but he does sink steadily into the feeling of loving someone and having that someone want to be near him, to hold him close, to love him back. His heart hurts, because Soonyoung is broken, so the whole world is wrong—but it doesn’t stop his heart from feeling incredibly...complete, and he hopes Soonyoung could forgive him for it. 

  


~ ~ ~

  


None of the following weeks come easily. It’s easy in the way that it’s simple, because Wonwoo would do anything for Soonyoung, and that’s that. But it is _hard._ It’s hard when Soonyoung wakes up the next afternoon, after finally having fallen into a fitful sleep, and _gasps_ in pain and shock and realization that his worst nightmare hadn’t stayed within the confines of his subconscious. Wonwoo hurries into the room and onto the bed and holds him against his chest as he sobs again, seemingly being battered by reality for a second time. No one’s showed up with medicine yet. 

It’s worse than last night. Maybe there was still some element of shock acting as a buffer that dissolved when Soonyoung woke up this morning. He’s in so much pain he’s trembling, dripping with sweat. His _teeth_ chatter. There’s nothing Wonwoo can do but murmur empty comforts to him, let him squeeze his hand until he thinks the circulation will be cut off, press a cold handkerchief to his forehead and his face—and wonder, silently, if a clean break should hurt this much. 

When Hansol arrives with the medicine, Wonwoo checks his pocket watch—he thinks it’s impossible that it’s only been an hour since Soonyoung woke up. “Do you want to see him, or shall I just get the medicine?” Wonwoo asks, but Soonyoung’s shaking his head by the time the first half of the question is out. Hansol asks to see him, and Wonwoo tries to explain. “He’s—it’s bad, and he doesn’t want anyone to see it. It isn’t about you.” 

Wonwoo measures out the proper amount of liquid from the bottle Hansol gave him and presents it to Soonyoung. He downs it, grimacing at the taste, and settles back into the pillows with closed eyes. “Was Hansol angry I didn’t want to see him,” he asks, and Wonwoo shakes his head, frowning. 

“Of course not.” He sits the small cup on the bedside table. “He understands.” 

“Well I very much doubt that,” Soonyoung says, his words blurring together just the faintest hint as the medicine begins to take effect. Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say. A lazy grin appears on Soonyoung’s face after a minute. “Oh...oh, _that’s_ good,” he says, and Wonwoo laughs. 

“Stronger than last time?” 

“ _Much,_ ” Soonyoung says, his eyes falling closed as his body visibly relaxes into the bed. Blindly, one hand reaches out toward Wonwoo. “Come here.” 

The medicine knocks him out fairly quickly—being in that much pain for so long having exhausted him. But before he falls asleep, his brain-to-mouth filter goes, and he starts talking. 

“I’ve gone and lost everything.” Surprisingly, his eyes are open. He’s staring at the wardrobe again. “I should have just died.” 

Wonwoo’s mouth hangs open for a moment. “Don’t—don’t _say_ that,” he says when he’s collected himself a bit. “I know you’re tired and you’re sad and the—the medicine, but you can’t say that. You can’t.” 

Tears fill Soonyoung’s eyes. “I’ve lost the thing that makes me happiest in the world. And if I can’t perform—I can hardly just ride around with them doing nothing and not pulling my weight, so I’ve lost my family as well.” 

“And what about me?” Wonwoo asks, not bothering to hide how it hurts him—odds are Soonyoung won’t even remember this. He’s crying now as well. “You haven’t lost me, and you’re supposed to be helping me, remember, you promised. Would you really rather be fucking dead?” 

Soonyoung blinks, slowly, and confusion crosses his features. “What…?” They’ve been holding hands this whole time, but Soonyoung’s other hand fumbles to join them. “No, Wonwoo, why would you say that?” 

Sleep takes him, and Wonwoo wants nothing more than to hide in his own room and cry. He looks down at their hands. 

Almost nothing. 

When Soonyoung wakes it’s much, much later. The sun set hours ago, but Wonwoo hasn’t eaten, or left the bed, for that matter. He’s stayed by Soonyoung’s side and administered more medicine on the timetable Jisoo sent him—Soonyoung hasn’t woken up for it, not really, only regained enough consciousness to start to feel pain again and drink down the cure for it. Now, though, Wonwoo watches him blink himself awake, and he seems more aware this time. 

Wonwoo is exhausted, half asleep. “Has it worn off,” he mumbles, and Soonyoung turns to him. 

“No...no, I feel alright,” he says, voice scratchy, as he rubs his eyes. He lays still, and then Wonwoo watches his eyebrows lower. His mouth opens. “Please tell me what I’m remembering did not actually happen,” he whispers, without looking at Wonwoo. 

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. It isn’t that he’s angry. He can’t blame Soonyoung for feeling anything he’s feeling right now. He just doesn’t know what to say. 

Soonyoung turns toward him as best he can. “Oh _god,_ Wonwoo. I’m so sorry,” he says, still whispering, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m so sorry I said that, I don’t…it’s just…” 

Pushing himself up so he can gather Soonyoung into his arms again, Wonwoo shushes him. “I know,” he says, as a small hand grips the front of his shirt, still stained with his tears from that afternoon. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, muffled and wet. “I shouldn’t have...I’m so, so glad I have you, Wonwoo. Please...please don’t think...” 

Wonwoo kisses the top of Soonyoung’s head. “Already forgiven, love.” He strokes Soonyoung’s hair and feels him melt against him even more. “Are you hungry, or still tired?” 

So Wonwoo prepares something for them, and returns to the bedroom. He brings Soonyoung a tray, and then sits down with his own plate, legs crossed. He stares down at it for a moment, hesitating despite his stomach begging him to eat. “I’m glad you didn’t die,” he says. Soonyoung has a hand outstretched when he looks up, and Wonwoo takes it in his own. 

“So am I.” 

  


That first day had been the worst, but it does not get much better. There are times during the first week that Soonyoung’s pain is so terrible the medicine can’t cut through it, and all Wonwoo can do is hold his head in his lap as he sobs, running his fingers through his hair, massaging his temples. Soonyoung tells him, when the pain subsides a bit, that it helps. Wonwoo isn’t so sure, but he keeps doing it. 

Soonyoung doesn’t eat much. The medicine or the pain clogs up his appetite, and he eats when Wonwoo brings him meals, but he almost never finishes. He gets good enough on the crutches that he can maneuver himself through the house well enough, but Wonwoo still has to help him stand. He tries on his own, and sometimes when he can’t he grits his teeth and takes Wonwoo’s arm, but other times he slumps back down on the bed and cries, hating himself for not being able to do something so trivial. 

“I wasn’t careful,” he says, hanging his head. It takes effort for him to talk, Wonwoo can tell by the way his voice comes clawing out of his body—by the end of seven days he’s cried his throat raw. “Wasn’t careful enough. I only ever wanted to show off and be better than everyone else and now I’m being punished.” 

Shaking his head, Wonwoo sits next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders. “You aren’t being punished. You haven’t done anything to deserve it. It was an accident.” 

“It was a mistake,” Soonyoung corrects. “ _My_ mistake. It was too high. Too far to jump.” 

“You said you’d done it before.” 

“A fluke.” 

Wonwoo kisses the side of Soonyoung’s head. “You know as well as I do that _this_ was the fluke.” He hears Soonyoung take a deep, shaky breath. “And it was _not_ your fault.” 

Finally, Soonyoung looks up, still pouting a bit. He raises his eyebrows, and puffs out his cheeks before blowing air out in front of him. He turns to Wonwoo and squints. “Minghao’s, then. Next time he comes to visit...he better watch out.” 

It’s a joke. It’s the first hint of _Soonyoung_ Wonwoo has seen since the accident. Wonwoo laughs. “ _Don’t_ let him hear you talking like that. I think the guilt would turn him inside out.” 

There’s the smallest hint of a smile on Soonyoung’s face, and Wonwoo sees a dim, flickering light at the end of what he knows will still be a very long, dark tunnel. 

  


Soonyoung feels all of his emotions like volcanoes: fiery and unrelenting. So when his temper starts getting the better of him as he heals—because he heals slowly, and he can’t do things for himself, and he still blames himself, at least a little—Wonwoo understands. Truly, he does. The situation is awful and it had been easy to see how restless Soonyoung had become even after a week, let alone the three he’s been stuck here. So Wonwoo understands. 

The anger doesn’t flare up right away. After a couple of weeks, Soonyoung starts returning to himself a bit. The first time he tells Wonwoo he’s simply _starving,_ Wonwoo nearly cries from relief and cooks everything he has in his house. He smiles more, laughs a little more, he needs less and less medicine. He’s able to visit cheerfully with the folk from the carnival who drop by. Wonwoo can still see how his fingers tap relentlessly on any surface available, or how he stares out the window, itching to move and run and _go,_ but for the most part, he’s doing well. Jisoo even comments on it, when he delivers what he thinks will be the last of the medicine Soonyoung will have need of. Unfortunately, that news isn’t quite good enough for Soonyoung, especially when he examines his leg. 

“How is it,” Soonyoung asks, biting his lip and wincing as Jisoo feels around at his knee. 

“It seems to be healing well,” he says, and Soonyoung beams. “I’m going to leave the cast a while longer just in case.” 

Soonyoung’s smile dims. “When can I walk?” he asks. The pitying look Jisoo gives him before speaking is answer enough, and the smile disappears. 

“Not _yet,_ ” Jisoo says. “Keep the crutches. Don’t put weight on it. You have to listen to me, or you could end up even worse off.” 

“I _know,_ ” Soonyoung says darkly, crossing his arms and looking out the window. 

It marks the start of the downward spiral that leads from the second week to the third. Soonyoung doesn’t go quiet again, doesn’t return to how he was right after it happened—it’s smaller things than that. His moods are up and down, he gets discouraged faster, he snaps at Wonwoo over things that are relatively inconsequential—but Wonwoo doesn’t think of it that way, he knows how hard this is for Soonyoung and the toll it’s taking on him and he thinks he deserves some leeway. It _must_ be normal in these situations, and it’s still not nearly as bad as it could be, Wonwoo thinks: at least he’s eating, he’s talking, he’s up and moving even if he’s not improving as fast as he’d like. 

Chan and Kyungwon and Sojin visit one night, and when they leave Soonyoung is in a particularly good mood. He sits on the sofa while Wonwoo cleans up after everyone, smiling softly to himself. “Come here,” he says, and when Wonwoo walks over he pulls him down for a kiss. When Soonyoung pulls back, just a fraction, he almost looks happy. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, and Wonwoo puts the last of the glasses in the sink before returning to sit next to him. 

“Oh?” 

“Yes.” He looks down, and bites his lip. “They’re going to move again soon. And hopefully—I mean, I know I won’t be _better_ better by then,” he says, pausing to look up at Wonwoo and grab one of his hands, “but what if we joined up with them when they go? I think I might be alright to go, I’ll be getting around better and you, you could cook and—the season’s almost over, I just don’t want to miss the rest of it completely.” 

And Wonwoo’s been so distracted by taking care of Soonyoung that he’d nearly forgotten about the heavy rock in his gut. He doesn’t realize he’s answered until it’s already out of his mouth: “I don’t know if I can do that,” he says. His eyebrows lower. He _could._ He doesn’t know why he answered that so quickly. 

Soonyoung has already gone silent, though, hopefulness from before completely dashed, glaring at Wonwoo. “You’ve stayed with me before, though.” 

“I...that’s different from, I mean...I’ve always known I was coming back?” 

Soonyoung stares, and then laughs, sharp and cold. “Well, I didn’t _ask_ you not to come back, I know better than that, don’t I?” 

Wonwoo tries not to let the icicles sting. “What do you mean?” 

He watches Soonyoung’s lip curl up. “It _means_ I think you froze when this stupid fucking garden did,” he spits. Wonwoo winces, physically recoils from the force of it. Nearly immediately, though, despair takes Soonyoung’s expression, and he shakes his head, hiding his face in his hands just late enough that Wonwoo sees the tears welling up in his eyes. Wonwoo exhales, trembling a bit, but gathers Soonyoung into his arms—only to have Soonyoung turn away, ashamed of how cruel he’d been, his shoulders shaking gently as muffled sobs come from behind his hands. 

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says. He knows he must sound tired, knows Soonyoung must have seen the devastation on his face after he said what he said. But Wonwoo knows Soonyoung never would have said it if he wasn’t hurting, if he wasn’t at a loss, if he wasn’t feeling so _much_ and helpless to change his situation. “Soonyoung,” Wonwoo repeats, when he doesn’t make a move to uncover his face. 

After a moment he does look up, his hands finding Wonwoo’s automatically and gripping them hard. “I didn’t mean it—” he’s saying, his face covered in tears. He lifts his hands to cup Wonwoo’s face gently, barely touching his skin, and shakes his head again. “I’m so sorry, Wonwoo, _please,_ ” he begs, and he might have tried to say more, but the sobs get harder. 

“I know,” Wonwoo says, because he does. Soonyoung throws his arms around Wonwoo’s neck, hiding his face in the crook of it, and cries more, still repeating _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._ Wonwoo’s hands trail up and down his back comfortingly, until finally Soonyoung’s apologies are only a whisper against Wonwoo’s skin. 

Wonwoo isn’t angry. He couldn’t be if he tried, not with Soonyoung. And if what Soonyoung said sticks in his chest, he hardly thinks it’s Soonyoung’s fault—how can he hold it against him, when it’s true? 

  


~ ~ ~

  


Things even out a bit after that, though Wonwoo hesitates to say the worst is over. He certainly doesn’t want to jinx it. Soonyoung’s moods still fluctuate, but it’s more in line with what Wonwoo thinks should be expected. He’s more careful with Wonwoo now, and he seems to make more of an effort when it comes to _not_ letting himself slip back into anger, aimed toward himself or otherwise. Slowly, he regains use of his knee—it can bear weight, a little, and as soon as that progress becomes apparent Soonyoung’s demeanor shifts even more. The quiet sadness that has been his default state for the past few weeks becomes a much rarer occurrence; he smiles more, he laughs more, he can even recount his fantastical carnival stories to Wonwoo again, now that they don’t crack and jolt in pain when he tries. It’s enough, for now—for Wonwoo, at least. He hates seeing Soonyoung so destroyed, so it’s enough that he’s clawed his way out of that, even for a day. 

“What’s the story with these airships?” Soonyoung asks one morning. Wonwoo makes a noncommittal noise; airships had been the whisper on most sailor’s lips the last year he spent at sea, but as far as he knew they still hadn’t gotten one to fly successfully. He tells Soonyoung as much, and it sparks up curiosity in Soonyoung’s eyes. Wonwoo smiles, seeing the gears in Soonyoung’s mind turning in fascination. “But how would they fly? Steam?” He sits back in his chair at the table. “Surely the machinery would be too heavy.” 

“The last I heard, they were trying something with a large balloon instead of sails.” 

Soonyoung’s eyes widen as he imagines it. “That seems impossible,” he says. “Although, I suppose at one point someone was sitting in his kitchen thinking regular ships were impossible.” His head tilts to one side. “And we _are_ sitting in the middle of a magic garden. So I suppose we have even less room to be skeptical.” 

He’s so like himself before his accident that Wonwoo smiles gently, and leans forward and kisses him. 

“What was that for?” Soonyoung asks. Wonwoo’s reminded forcibly of the week Soonyoung had spent here, after they’d kissed for the first time. 

He shrugs. “No reason. Just...you, you know.” 

It makes Soonyoung beam, and his ears turn red. This Soonyoung—happy Soonyoung, creative Soonyoung, bashful Soonyoung—has been so dearly missed. He clears his throat. “I've been wondering—do you have any photographs from when you sailed?” 

Wonwoo purses his lips. Cameras had been new, back then, but there was a passenger on one trip who’d brought his along. “I do, actually.” He moves to the cabinet in the other room, at the end of the sofa, and crouches down. Somewhere among his writing, he knows there’s a photo album. It takes him a moment of digging—he has _so_ many writing notebooks—but eventually he finds it, blows dust off it, and returns to the table. Soonyoung turns the pages slowly, only after Wonwoo has narrated each picture; who’s who, where they’d been heading, where they’d come from, what he’d seen while he was there. 

“You’re always writing,” Soonyoung remarks, and Wonwoo stiffens for a moment. 

He doesn’t know why he still can’t do this. He should be able to, he trusts Soonyoung with everything, with his _life,_ but he can’t manage this one thing. So he lies. “Journals,” he says, clearing his throat. “Ship’s logs.” 

It’s enough to satisfy Soonyoung, who has no reason to suspect he’d be lying. “And this,” he says, pointing to a picture of Wonwoo, with his arm resting on Jeonghan’s shoulder, both smiling into the camera. “This must be Jeonghan. You’re always together.” He turns and looks at Wonwoo with wide, expectant eyes. 

Wonwoo nods. “It is,” he says, quieter than he means to. 

“You look happy,” Soonyoung says, smiling fondly at the picture, running his fingers over Wonwoo’s tiny, monochrome counterpart on the page. “So handsome.” Wonwoo watches as Soonyoung’s lip catches between his teeth, and his eyes raise to meet Wonwoo’s. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” 

Soonyoung pauses, looking at Wonwoo thoughtfully, as though he’s second-guessing his question entirely. It’s been long enough since they’ve met, however, that Wonwoo knows he's only thinking of the best way to word things. 

“Did you love him?” 

A bit more direct than he’d been anticipating. Wonwoo’s eyebrows raise, and he sits back in his chair a bit. 

“It’s alright if you did,” Soonyoung continues. He certainly doesn’t _seem_ bothered by the notion. “I only wondered...I just thought, maybe, you know...that that’s why you don’t sail anymore.” 

Wonwoo very nearly laughs. He feels like they’ve had the ‘why Wonwoo doesn’t sail anymore’ conversation countless times, but _every time_ Soonyoung has been able to tell that he hasn’t gotten the full story, that there’s something else and something else just below the surface. “I...did. Love him. In a way.” 

“In what way?” 

Honestly, he hasn’t thought about it—about _this,_ specifically—in years. _This_ had never been the issue. “...In the way you love someone you know isn’t ever going to love you the same.” 

Soonyoung nods very solemnly, before smirking a bit. “So you two never…?” 

Clearing his throat again, Wonwoo feels his face go pink. “We, um, we did. But only when we’d been away from land long enough to get cabin fever. And even then, only...only when there was no one else.” 

“And that didn’t bother you?” Wonwoo shakes his head. “And you never told him how you felt?” 

“He knew. But he also knew it wasn’t a big deal. I suppose looking back he could have been...a touch less cavalier about it,” Wonwoo says, and he catches the tiny frown that pulls Soonyoung’s lips down. “But it was alright. Really. Because I wasn’t...I never _wanted_ anything more, with him? I knew it wouldn’t happen, so my feelings never…” He pauses, thinking. “They just didn’t go there. He was just my best friend. And I was alright, Soonyoung. I wasn’t really—the _monogamous_ type, back then, anyway. I would have been,” he adds hastily, as one of Soonyoung’s eyebrows twitches up in interest. “Had there been someone. But I wasn’t looking for it. It didn’t hurt me that Jeonghan didn’t love me. Honest.” 

There’s a long moment where Wonwoo isn’t quite sure how Soonyoung will react. Eventually he crosses his arms, and speaks slowly: “But it hurt that he left.” Wonwoo hesitates, and then nods. “And _that’s_ why you don’t sail anymore.” 

Wonwoo chews at the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to do it without him. I...I told you how discarded it made me feel, and I just...I didn’t know what to do.” 

Soonyoung gives him this sweet, empathetic little look, before he leans over and kisses him, chaste, but lingering. He stays close when he breaks the kiss. “Thank you for telling me,” he says. “But I want you to know if he ever shows up here, I’m going to be _quite_ cold to him, because having your heart broken _in a way_ is still having your heart broken, and I cannot abide it, I simply refuse.” Wonwoo snickers quietly at Soonyoung’s earnest indignance on his behalf, until he continues: “Your heart is far, _far_ too important to be broken, sailor man.” 

A sigh makes its way out of Wonwoo’s lungs—almost too soft and dreamy to be deemed a sigh at all. He is so in love. 

As they both relax a bit again, Soonyoung leans his elbow on the table, and his head on his hand. “I can hardly imagine you _sleeping around,_ Jeon Wonwoo.” Wonwoo laughs out loud this time. “You’re going to have to tell me more about all of your transcontinental conquests.” 

“I’ve definitely become less...adventurous...as the years have gone on.” 

Soonyoung hums thoughtfully. “You still have it in you, though. The adventure, I mean, not the other thing.” Wonwoo snorts. “It’s true, you know. I’ve seen it.” Soonyoung slides his free hand toward where Wonwoo’s rests on the table, and slots his fingers in the spaces between Wonwoo’s. “I’ve felt it,” he murmurs. He looks at their fingers, intertwined, and seems to get lost in his thoughts. “Sometimes I think…” he starts, and trails off. It’s rare he’s like this, so reluctant to say what he’s thinking. He bites his lip and looks up at Wonwoo again. “Wonwoo, if this place really is magic, I’m not sure it’s good.” 

Wonwoo bites back the confused laugh that threatens to come out of him, because it would make Soonyoung feel bad. He sighs a bit, and doesn’t break eye contact. “You think I live in an _evil_ garden,” he says, careful and just barely questioning. “Cursed, or something?” 

“No. I—I just wonder if maybe how you’re feeling...that illusion thing?” He turns, and looks out the window. “Maybe it isn’t all in your head.” 

  


By the time Soonyoung’s knee is healed enough that the cast comes off, and he can bend it _almost_ normally, and use one crutch rather than two, it’s the beginning of September. Carnival season ends as October begins, so Soonyoung is nearly resigned to missing the rest of it. Nearly. It does still pain him to think about, Wonwoo can tell, and occasionally at night he lets himself cry, when he thinks Wonwoo is asleep. But Wonwoo thinks, all things considered, that he’s feeling better. He’s himself again, at any rate, and Wonwoo is still helplessly in love, more and more by the day. 

“I’m bored, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung whines one night, prickling when Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I’m serious. I will _die_ if we don’t do something this instant.” 

“What did you have in mind?” 

Soonyoung grins. 

Wonwoo never swam much in his pond before, despite it being crystal clear, and the perfect temperature—it just hadn’t appealed to him. Now that he’s here with Soonyoung, under the moonlight, he can’t imagine why, and he wishes they’d done this sooner. It may be how giddy it makes Soonyoung to be able to support himself on his own, the water easing the pressure on his knee, and how he can’t stop smiling, but Wonwoo is absolutely entranced and enamored. Soonyoung drops below the water after assuring Wonwoo he’s being careful, and shakes his hair when he emerges, flipping it back and away from his face. Wonwoo moves toward him with a smile. “I like your forehead,” he says. 

It makes Soonyoung laugh, loud and ringing and echoing around the glade. “My _forehead?”_ he asks, incredulous. 

Drawing closer and placing his hands at Soonyoung’s waist, Wonwoo smiles wider. “I think it’s handsome. Is it so strange?” 

Soonyoung sniffs. “It’s a bit strange, but I suppose I can’t say anything. I think you have the sweetest wrists I’ve ever seen.” 

“You,” Wonwoo says, lifting one of Soonyoung’s hands, “have pretty fingers.” 

“You don’t think they’re stubby?” Soonyoung wonders, cocking his head to the side and examining his fingers. 

Practically indignant, Wonwoo replies. “They’re not! They’re elegant. But soft. They’re perfect.” 

Soonyoung grins. “You have such nice eyelashes. You got my share, I’ve barely any at all, look.” He closes his eyes and waits expectantly for Wonwoo’s observations. Instead, Wonwoo leans in close and kisses his eyelids. It makes Soonyoung giggle in surprise, and he rests his hands on Wonwoo’s forearms—he doesn’t open his eyes, just waits, so Wonwoo kisses his cheek, and then finally his lips. He sighs into it, and Soonyoung slides his arms up around Wonwoo’s neck, pulling him closer. 

Lazily, their lips move against each other’s; Soonyoung’s lips soft and his tongue sweet and everything perfectly suited to this moment, until Soonyoung’s hands start to wander and Wonwoo pulls back enough to whisper: “Soonyoung?” 

“Yes?” 

He pauses. “...Your chin is cute, as well.” 

Soonyoung snorts, and soon they’ve both broken down in giggles they try unsuccessfully to stifle, so as not to disturb the silence in the glade. When Soonyoung’s laughter trails off he embraces Wonwoo, hugging him tight and resting his head on his shoulder. Wonwoo holds him there, feels Soonyoung’s warm, bare skin against his own and sighs, as happy as he’s ever been. 

He feels guilty. He can’t help but feel guilty, when Soonyoung’s dealing with what he is, that he feels this _happy._

But it isn’t that Soonyoung _doesn’t_ seem happy—Wonwoo supposes happy and worried and devastated can all coexist. He’d like to know for sure, though. “Soonyoung,” he says, into the stillness of the night and the water. 

A small noise of acknowledgment from his shoulder tells him to go on, but he isn’t sure how. So he’s silent for a bit, and when the silence has stretched a second too long, Soonyoung looks up at him curiously. 

Wonwoo smiles sheepishly. “I don’t know how to say it. It seems so…” 

As he trails off, Soonyoung shrugs. “You can say anything to me.” 

“Are you…” Wonwoo starts after a moment. “I want you to be...just...are you happy? All things considered?” A fond smile turns Soonyoung’s mouth up at the corners. “It’s stupid to ask. Because, well. Obviously it’s—“ 

Soonyoung’s smile gets wider and his eyes crinkle up and he places his hands on the side of Wonwoo’s face, shaking his head and shushing him. “All things considered,” he says, “I’m getting there.” 

Relief floods Wonwoo, because that’s really all he could ask for, and he smiles. 

Soonyoung takes a breath, and continues, his fingertips curling in and out of the ends of Wonwoo’s hair. “And it isn’t stupid. If I...if I don’t think about what I’d _normally_ be doing, I just—I’m here. With you. I’m resting and I’m getting better and...I’m here with you.” 

Then and there, Wonwoo very nearly opens up his heart and lets the contents go spilling into the water to swirl around them. It isn’t the strange fuzziness holding him back from saying it, but again, the wondering if it’s the right time. He considers how the words would feel on his tongue, words he hasn’t ever said to anyone else. He wonders if Soonyoung would smile, or laugh, or maybe even cry. He wonders if it would make things easier or harder, if Soonyoung were to love him back. 

The thing is, he thinks Soonyoung _does_ love him back, and it doesn’t make things any clearer. He doesn’t know what it _means._ Despite the knowledge that, yes, of course they can be together even if they’re on opposite ends of the earth...god, Wonwoo doesn’t want that. Things have come too far for that to be enough. He wishes it was easier. He wishes he could leave his house. He wishes he hadn’t frozen when his garden did. 

Now the fuzziness is there, and Soonyoung can tell. “Come back,” he says, gently. He leans in close, close enough for Wonwoo to see the freckles dotting his cheeks and nose, the water clinging to his (short) (perfect) eyelashes. “Come back to me. I’m here.” Wonwoo blinks, and Soonyoung whispers his name, brushes his fingers along his high cheekbone. It shocks his mind back to clarity for a moment. 

“I miss sailing,” he sighs out, surprising even himself with how easily it comes. Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, but his eyebrows raise just a touch, and Wonwoo can see how badly he wants to say: _so go sail._ “I miss seeing things I don’t know by heart,” Wonwoo continues. “Except you. You I want to know by heart.” 

“You do,” Soonyoung murmurs, nodding, his thumb tracing the shell of Wonwoo’s ear. 

Wonwoo lets the back of his fingers trail down the line of Soonyoung’s throat. “I want to know you even more.” Soonyoung has come so close now their noses are brushing, and his lips are parted, waiting, his hot breath coming shallow and quick against Wonwoo’s mouth. Wonwoo thinks he nods again, just barely, but they’re too close together for him to tell. Another couple of long seconds tick by, and then Soonyoung breathes out, and grabs the back of Wonwoo’s head and kisses him, hard, and Wonwoo would die to keep this forever. 

He kisses his way down Soonyoung’s throat, licks at the droplets of water collected at Soonyoung’s collarbone and hears him make this breathy, perfect sound. “Yes,” Soonyoung sighs, either in response to Wonwoo’s earlier statement or to Wonwoo’s lips and tongue moving against his skin. 

“Your neck,” Wonwoo says, currently working his way back up it; a continuation of the game from before. “I _love_ your neck.” 

“I love your mouth,” Soonyoung responds almost immediately, his voice high and frantic and frayed at the edges, just from this. Wonwoo feels his pulse flutter when he presses his lips to Soonyoung’s skin again. Gingerly, and incredibly wary of Soonyoung’s injury, Wonwoo lifts Soonyoung up by the thighs, the water easing his weight on him. His arms raise to circle Wonwoo’s neck and he looks up at him, his tongue poking out to lick his lips, eyes steady and clear. The warmth of Soonyoung flush against him like this contrasting the cool night air on his wet skin is dizzying. 

A breeze whispers through the trees, and Soonyoung shivers. His eyes drop to Wonwoo’s lips again. “Wonwoo,” he says, mostly air, mostly his mouth forming the shape of the word. 

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo replies, and the water around him seems to move from a wind much stronger than the breeze blowing, seems to crash loudly against rocks that aren’t there. 

  


~ ~ ~

  


Two days later, Seungcheol knocks on the door of the cottage, alone, and Wonwoo watches Soonyoung blink at the door as though he knows what’s coming. He does, in some way. He knows it hasn’t been nearly enough time for his knee to be even half as strong as it needs to be, to be the way it was. 

“I'm sorry,” Seungcheol says. “We don’t want to leave you, Soonyoung, but...” 

Soonyoung swallows. “I know,” he says. 

“You’re still welcome to come along and do something less precarious. It’s you who told us you didn’t want another position.” 

“And I still don’t.” 

Desperately, Wonwoo looks away, and tries not to wonder if his answer would be different, had Wonwoo agreed to go with him. 

The answer Soonyoung gives makes Seungcheol smile sadly. He leaves Wonwoo a sack of money, which he tries to refuse, but Soonyoung reaches out and says, “Well, Wonwoo, let’s not be hasty in turning down such generosity.” Seungcheol laughs out loud, and stands. 

“Keep taking care of that knee.” 

Nodding firmly, Soonyoung gives a two finger salute to Seungcheol. Once the door clicks shut behind him, his posture deflates, and he runs a hand restlessly through his hair, sighing. He sniffles, and then looks up at Wonwoo. “They’re leaving me,” he says, voice cracking, smiling tearfully. 

“They’re coming back for you,” Wonwoo replies. 

Another sniffle, and Soonyoung nods. “But they’re leaving me.” He leans his head back and blinks at the ceiling, then sighs, and shakes his head quickly, laughing a bit. “I think I can make it up the stairs.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mm. I don’t want to sleep downstairs anymore. I want to go back to our bed.” 

Ours ours ours ours _ours._ He smiles, and covers Soonyoung’s hand with his own. “Of course.” 

Soonyoung grins, a shy, almost sad quirk of the corner of his mouth. “I might have to lean on you.” 

Wonwoo leans in to whisper his response. “Always, love.” 

He sighs, relieved, or something. He tilts his head to one side and opens his mouth as if to say something, but he stops himself, and looks down. “Hm,” he says, and kisses Wonwoo on the cheek. 

When the sun sets, it takes Soonyoung a bit of time and a lot of effort to make it up the stairs, but he does make it, and he sinks into the bed with a sigh, before contentment smooths out his features. Wonwoo lays down beside him, but he’s quiet, his mind working. “Something wrong?” Soonyoung asks. 

He turns toward Soonyoung. “If I did something terrible, could you forgive me?” 

One of Soonyoung’s eyebrows raises, and his mouth curls into a smirk. “I’m highly intrigued as to where exactly this conversation is going, darling,” he says. 

Wonwoo frowns. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Soonyoung’s smile falters just for a second. “Soonyoung, I—just for a second, I wished for you to stay. I wished you wouldn’t leave. But I didn’t...” 

Soonyoung’s face softens. “Wishes don’t make things happen, silly. You can’t possibly think it’s your fault, you don’t even believe in magic.” 

“Still,” Wonwoo murmurs, wrinkling up his nose. “Feels...wrong. Selfish.” 

“If anything,” Soonyoung says, and adjusts the pillow under his knee, “it’s a compliment.” He goes quiet for a moment. “I think…” he starts, and Wonwoo turns onto his side to see him. “I’m afraid I might never perform again.” 

Strangely, he doesn’t _sound_ afraid—or upset, or uncertain. He says it casually, as though he’s observing the weather, or he’s found a loose thread in his clothes. There’s something, though. The way he seems to curl in on himself a bit, maybe. “You will, though,” Wonwoo says, softly. He reaches up, and caresses Soonyoung’s cheek for a moment, and hopes it’s reassuring. “You’re going to get better. This,” he says, moving his hand down to Soonyoung’s knee and tracing one finger slowly over it, “is not enough to keep you down, shooting star.” 

Soonyoung cups Wonwoo’s cheek, and gives him a quick kiss. “You’re sweet.” 

Wonwoo’s fingers keep moving, lightly, over Soonyoung’s skin, and his eyes fall closed. “Does that hurt?” Wonwoo asks. 

Soonyoung shakes his head. He’s smiling. “No, no, it’s nice.” He seems to settle even more into the mattress. “ _You’re_ nice.” 

“So you keep telling me,” Wonwoo says, chuckling. 

“Mm. Thank you.” 

In the darkness, Wonwoo laughs. Incoherent, sleepy Soonyoung is awfully sweet. “I’ve not said anything for you to be thanking me for.” 

Soonyoung hums again in response, and Wonwoo lets him sleep. 

  


~ ~ ~

  


There are good days, and there are worse days, but Wonwoo thinks that’s only natural. Soonyoung mentions offhand one day soon after Seungcheol’s last visit that he thinks it’s funny how someone can be the saddest they’ve ever been and the happiest they’ve ever been, at the same time. Wonwoo supposes he understands that. The bad days—and they aren’t _bad,_ really, just less good—happen relatively infrequently, and there’s none of the bitterness from the weeks just after the accident; it’s mostly sadness, some days worse than others. Every now and then Wonwoo catches Soonyoung staring wistfully off into the distance, or up at the high boughs of a tree, or out their _(their)_ bedroom window. When he does, he’s never quite sure whether to give him space or hold him close as he can, so he usually croons a quiet _Soonyoung,_ and lets him turn around and nod to him with a small smile before turning back quietly, or turn and smile and beckon him close, breathing him in, nosing at his cheek and tickling the skin there with his soft, fluttery sighs. It’s those moments, _most_ moments, that Wonwoo is so happy and in love he could float away, but it’s the others, infrequent as they are, that cast doubt across his mind. He knows Soonyoung is happy with him, Wonwoo doesn’t doubt that. But he knows that staying here—staying in one place—isn’t what Soonyoung wants, and it can’t sustain him. 

He tries not to think about it, not yet. It’s fairly easy, because mostly there are good days: days spent in the sun, days spent in love. But sometimes Wonwoo wonders—when Soonyoung holds his face in his hands, smooths his hair, and kisses him (smiling, always smiling,) he wonders if there’s a chance that this time he could be enough.

When September ends, and carnival season ends with it, and Lucky 13 Traveling Carnival returns to its home base miles and miles and miles away—Soonyoung remains with Wonwoo, and Wonwoo tries not to let his heart rejoice too much. 

  


One evening, they decide to eat dinner in Wonwoo’s back garden. Soonyoung leans his crutch against the small table they’ve set up and sinks carefully into his seat, as Wonwoo unpacks the food from the picnic basket. He serves Soonyoung a plate with a small smile, and Soonyoung beams, leaning up for a kiss. “Thank you,” he says brightly. He looks down, then back up again at Wonwoo just as he’s sitting. “Love you,” he says, quietly, turning rosy pink and casting his eyes down once more, swallowing nervously. Wonwoo’s eyes widen, but Soonyoung isn’t looking at him—he looks rather terrified, actually, so as much as Wonwoo wants to leap across the table and kiss him again, as much as he can’t _believe_ it was Soonyoung first, and as much as it means to finally hear him say it—he tells his heart to quiet down, and he smiles. 

“Love you too,” he says, easily. Soonyoung faces him again, a wide smile blossoming on his features. “You said you’d got a letter from Chan today, right?” 

Soonyoung’s smile has taken over his entire expression, and he just keeps looking at Wonwoo that way for a second until he registers that Wonwoo’s trying to have mercy on him and move the conversation forward. He shakes himself out of it, and continues. “Um, yes, he’s back home with his sisters now…” 

Dinner continues, the two of them eating and drinking and chatting the way they always have, and Wonwoo is reminded of those early nights at his kitchen table, before he’d learned to participate in the conversation, when he had sat mesmerized by Soonyoung’s words for hours. He hardly recognizes the person he was, that first day he’d invited Soonyoung inside, let alone before Soonyoung had come along; all of those memories seem to play out in dull browns and greys before his mind’s eye, while the last few months shine like reflections on water, painted with the red of Soonyoung’s mouth, and the glitter in his hair, and the palette of his myriad of tattoos. 

By the time they’re ready to head inside Wonwoo is full to bursting with love that desperately needs an outlet, but he still doesn’t want to overwhelm Soonyoung, so he helps him to his feet and he kisses him, just once, his lips lingering for just a fraction longer than could be considered casual. Soonyoung, though, grabs onto Wonwoo’s shoulders to make sure he’s steadied. "Wonwoo," he says, and looks him determinedly in the eyes. “This time do it like we just said we love each other for the first time?” 

So Wonwoo holds Soonyoung’s waist and leans in, breathing Soonyoung’s breath for a moment until their mouths meet again, open and heated and heavy but excruciatingly, gloriously slow. “Will you say it again,” Wonwoo asks into the corner of Soonyoung’s mouth, unwilling to remove his lips completely from Soonyoung’s. 

He feels Soonyoung stiffen, but only for a second. The flash of uncertainty fades, and Wonwoo feels him grin. “I love you,” he murmurs. Another kiss, and then again: “I love you.” Soonyoung teeters a bit on his feet, and scrambles to grab his crutch. “Will _you_ say it again?” 

“If you get me started I’m not sure I can _stop_ saying it,” Wonwoo says, and Soonyoung laughs, and kisses him again. 

It might be that they’ve finally said out loud what they mean to each other, but Soonyoung’s usual relative quietness becomes an afterthought once they’ve made it to bed, moans and gasps and _I love you_ s falling from his lips and landing somewhere in the vicinity of Wonwoo’s heart, almost painful from how desperately sincere they are. He holds Wonwoo’s face, keeps him close, noses and lips brushing every time they move. Toward the end he cries, from some mix of pleasure and emotion and possibly strain on his knee, and Wonwoo kisses where his tears fall, and wipes them away as best he can after he’s cleaned them up and they’ve rolled onto their sides to face one another. Soonyoung catches one of his hands as he pulls it away and presses a kiss to his wrist, his palm, each one of his fingers, before linking their hands and meeting his gaze, sleepy-eyed and dreamy. He breaks into a small, nervous grin. “I thought I’d been in love before, you know.” He blinks, in slow motion. “Until this.” 

Wonwoo scooches even closer to him, feeling the heat radiating from his body, still damp with sweat. He grins lazily. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been happier than right now. “Everything you’ve done, and you’ve never loved anyone?” 

Soonyoung shakes his head. “Not even close. This is how...how it’s supposed to feel,” he says, sure of himself. “It couldn’t be anything else. It couldn’t be anyone else.” The smile fades from his lips. “Wonwoo,” he whispers, his voice small but earnest. “I never want anyone else.” 

Exhaling shakily, Wonwoo cups Soonyoung’s cheek and nods. He tries to speak, but what can he say? So he kisses him, carefully and sweetly, and knows that Soonyoung will understand, because he always does; he’s always been too smart for Wonwoo. 

Abruptly, Wonwoo makes a sound, and pulls away from Soonyoung’s lips. “I didn’t hurt your knee earlier, did I?” he asks. 

“What?” 

“Well, you were crying…” 

Soonyoung gives a surprised little shout of laughter, and once he’s dissolved into giggles he doesn’t stop, until finally he nudges Wonwoo onto his back and peppers his whole face with kisses. 

 

_**iv. steady as she goes**_

The subsequent months must be the best of Wonwoo’s life. 

Eventually, Soonyoung gets the all-clear to move on from crutch to walking stick. He carves it full of sparrows and stars and symbols of good fortune, and Wonwoo watches with a smile. “A lot of good _these_ ones did me, though,” Soonyoung jokes, referring to his tattoos. His smile softens. “Well. I suppose they haven’t done too badly,” he says, glancing quickly up at Wonwoo. 

Wonwoo, of course, is not sure that that’s the truth—he can’t imagine being something Soonyoung would be willing to overlook the massive bad luck that’s befallen him in favor of. But he knows that if Soonyoung says it, it means he believes it, so it’s nice to hear anyway. It’s nice to feel loved, even if he doesn’t know what he did to deserve it. 

Eventually, too, Soonyoung asks to go with Wonwoo to sell his wares. He brings in even more business than usual with his wily smiles and expert sales technique and the unbelievable benefits he describes the fruit from Wonwoo’s garden to have—you’ll run faster, you won’t be as tired, you’ll see better, it’ll make you irresistible to women, it’ll make you smarter—it doesn’t have any of them, of course, but Soonyoung, the way only he can, makes people believe it. 

“Where are your sales records?” he asks Wonwoo one day when they’ve returned home. 

“My what,” Wonwoo responds. 

It sends Soonyoung into a frenzy, chastising Wonwoo about how he simply _must_ keep records and ledgers if he wants his business to have any legitimacy whatsoever. Wonwoo is quick to point out that Lucky 13’s business model involves stealing from patrons, but Soonyoung just huffs, and sits heavily down at the kitchen table. 

“I need a pen and paper. There is _work_ to be done.” 

So Soonyoung begins keeping track of all Wonwoo’s sales. He works furiously to try and make up for what they’ve already sold and haven’t written down, and then he sits after every selling day and updates the little notebook he’s begun and Wonwoo watches him: hunched over the table, tongue poking out as he writes, a pair of Wonwoo’s reading glasses perched on his nose. Wonwoo finds it terribly endearing, and leans down behind him, draping his arms over Soonyoung’s shoulders. He hugs him like that, thinking about how nice it is to have someone to think of this sort of thing. He kisses him on the cheek, and Soonyoung sighs. “You know I’m very busy trying to tidy up your life, don’t you?” 

Wonwoo chuckles. “I know. But I love you, and you look very nice in glasses. And I love you.” 

And Soonyoung can’t hear _enough_ that Wonwoo loves him, and Wonwoo knows it, so work tends to end up paused in favor of other, more mutually beneficial activities. 

  


There are dinners with Jihoon and Mingyu, or one or the other, but usually both. Soonyoung will often wake before Wonwoo and disappear outside and across the road where he pets Mingyu’s dogs through the gate, until Mingyu wakes up and lets them out to tackle Soonyoung into the dirt. Jihoon is a tougher nut to crack, but Soonyoung’s kindness and enthusiasm are hard to resist. It’s Wonwoo who gets the proof it’s happened: Jihoon and Mingyu go to leave one night and Jihoon pulls Wonwoo aside. “I like him. I like him for you,” Jihoon says. “It feels a little like we’ve met the real you for the first time, after all these years.” Ice cold self consciousness ripples down Wonwoo’s spine, for a second, but soon enough it fades into a twinge of regret—even if he’d known he wasn’t himself, he’d still never have thought anyone would care to know the _real_ him. Jihoon notices him slipping into his worries, and claps him on the shoulder. “Relax, friend. It’s a good thing.” 

When they’ve finally gone (it takes a while—Soonyoung keeps trying to convince Mingyu to get a tattoo,) Wonwoo pulls Soonyoung into a hug, his chin hooked over Soonyoung’s shoulder. “Are you magic?” he asks, and Soonyoung barks out a laugh. 

“If I say yes, is this going to end similarly to the last time we had this conversation?” Wonwoo can picture the exact sultry smile he’s wearing as he says it. He pulls back, keeping his hands locked around the small of Soonyoung’s back. 

“You have absolutely no idea how much you’ve changed my life.” When Soonyoung tilts his head in confusion, he continues. “Every day there’s something else."

"What is it today?"

"Today it’s that without you I’d still be...holding my friends at arm’s length.” 

Soonyoung puts a hand on Wonwoo’s chest, smiling. “You’ve changed mine too.” Wonwoo snorts. “Don’t be like that, it’s true. You’re the first…” He trails off, looking away from Wonwoo. “I never have to wonder if you really love me. I don’t have to be afraid none of this is real or...or that you’ll leave and I’ll be here thinking I must not have been worth it. I'm...I've always been too trusting, but with you I don’t have to wonder if it’s a mistake.” He hasn’t met Wonwoo’s eyes while he’s been speaking, but he still tears up when he’s finished. 

Wonwoo pulls him closer. “I won’t leave. You know I couldn’t.” 

“And neither could I.” 

“You’re magic.” 

The smile that spreads across Soonyoung’s face is so genuine, so blissful, it tugs at Wonwoo’s heart. He looks so happy. “Well I’m certainly not going to argue, sailor man.” He locks his fingers at the back of Wonwoo’s neck. “Kiss.” 

When Soonyoung’s lips touch his, he realizes his life has returned to being something he enjoys. When they climb into bed, and Wonwoo holds Soonyoung against his chest, he realizes that as long as Soonyoung is here, there’s no part of his day he doesn’t look forward to. He kisses Soonyoung’s forehead, and he wonders what’ll happen when the carnival comes back to take him away again. Wonwoo lays there, eyes roaming over Soonyoung’s face in the moonlight, and tries his very, very hardest to think: _You can go with him. You can follow him and you can be together. You don’t need to stay here._

And he sighs, because he still can’t make himself believe it. 

  


Soonyoung insists on cooking one night, by himself. He plants Wonwoo firmly on the sofa and wags a finger in his face. “I’ve been practicing. Don’t help me.” Wonwoo smiles, but also: there’s this underlying _thing,_ Soonyoung’s desperation to do things for himself again, even if he can’t do what he really wants. “I mean it. Not a peep from you.” 

“I won’t peep,” Wonwoo assures him, and watches him toddle off to the kitchen and begin gathering everything he needs—ingredients, and seasonings, and dishes, and once he has everything spread across the table and the counter he pauses. 

He turns to Wonwoo. “Would you like a story?” 

As he works, he tells Wonwoo of a mermaid who saved the life of a princess who was thrown into the ocean by her cousin, who was next in line for the crown. It’s a story he’s heard before, but Soonyoung tells it differently, the usually wooden characters springing to life through the details he adds or changes. In the version Wonwoo knows, the mermaid spends her life watching the princess from afar, then dies of a broken heart when the princess marries a prince, but in Soonyoung’s the two of them become friends and go on adventures together around the kingdom. 

Wonwoo listens, curled up on the sofa, warm and half-asleep. When the prince shows up in Soonyoung’s story, though, he lifts his head, twisting to look at Soonyoung. “Don’t tell me she still marries the prince,” he says, indignant. 

Soonyoung turns as well, raising an eyebrow. “I shan’t spoil the ending for you, dear. And this counts as peeping.” At Wonwoo’s glare, though, he rolls his eyes. “Of course she doesn’t marry the prince. I’m not very well going to tell you a sad story and ruin our nice lovely dinner, am I?” As Wonwoo breaks into a grin, Soonyoung turns back to his cooking. “I’m not much for sad endings lately, anyway,” he says, and picks up his tale where he left off. 

Something stops Wonwoo from immersing himself again right away, though. He watches Soonyoung’s back as he flits around the kitchen, familiar and at home, and he feels so, so lucky that this person decided to love him, and that they’ve gotten to build this little life together, as new and fresh as it still is. It’s hardly believable, and it’s certainly indescribable, and it must be the most important thing that’s ever happened to him. 

Over dinner, Soonyoung looks up from his food between bites. “I want to see a mermaid,” he announces. “If magic is _real,_ of course.” He nudges Wonwoo’s foot with his own under the table, grinning. 

Wonwoo hesitates, and then looks up. “I’ve seen one,” he says, and Soonyoung snorts. 

“Shut up.” 

“It’s true,” Wonwoo says, nodding. “She had a blue tail. We were on this island and I found her in a lagoon—I nearly didn’t notice her, her scales matched the color of the water so well.” 

Soonyoung’s eyes are narrowed, and Wonwoo’s nostrils flare as he struggles to keep from laughing. Suspiciously, Soonyoung jabs his fork in Wonwoo’s direction. “If you’ve seen a mermaid, how have you gone around for the whole time I’ve known you saying magic doesn’t exist?” 

“Well, mermaids are real, so they’re not magic,” Wonwoo says, shrugging. He goes back to his meal, and Soonyoung stays quiet—when he looks up, Soonyoung is still eyeing him closely. “You don’t believe me! She was very normal, actually. She swam right up to me once I told her I wasn’t going to hurt her.” 

Slowly, Soonyoung’s expression starts to creep toward cautious interest. Wonwoo leans forward, lowering his voice. “And do you know what she said to me?” 

“...What did she say,” Soonyoung asks, still skeptical, but Wonwoo can tell he’s nearly _almost_ close to believing him. 

“She told me the reason mermaids live in saltwater.” 

Instantly, Soonyoung’s face goes blank. “Don’t.” 

“What, I’m just—” 

“Do not, Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung warns, brandishing his fork again. 

Wonwoo smiles. “I’m only trying to tell you the reason mermaids live in saltwater is—” 

“Stop it, _stop_ it,” Soonyoung groans, laughing despite himself— 

“—because pepper makes them sneeze,” Wonwoo finishes proudly. Soonyoung sighs emphatically, and Wonwoo immediately dissolves into giggles at his own joke, his nose scrunching up as he slides down the back of his chair. 

Soonyoung is laughing too, exasperated and fond. “Absolutely terrible. You are _terrible._ ” 

Wonwoo finally stops laughing, wiping the corner of one eye. “I learned from the best,” he says, and Soonyoung’s demeanor visibly melts. 

It’s then that Wonwoo thinks: maybe he _could_ describe how important and wonderful his life with Soonyoung is, despite his earlier doubts. 

When Soonyoung has fallen asleep, Wonwoo is still miles away from it, his mind racing and unable to rest. Finally, he creeps downstairs and stands in front of his cabinet, arms crossed, lip caught between his teeth. He stares at it, this thing that’s haunted him in his own home for such a long time. 

Steeling himself, he flings the door open, flinching as if he thinks some sort of creature will burst out at him—but of course, nothing does. It’s only his notebooks, in the same place they’ve been for nearly six years now. Gingerly, he picks one up, swiping his hand across the leather binding to knock the dust off. He sighs, and sinks to the floor, crossing his legs. The fingers of his right hand flex around the pen he’s holding. He’s not even sure the muscles will remember what to do. 

He can’t quite manage a story yet, he thinks, so instead he writes Soonyoung—beginning to end, every thought he’s ever had about him landing clumsily on the page at first, but eventually spilling out lightning fast as he describes every inch of him, compares him to every lovely thing in the world, tells of all the ways the two of them are similar and different. Things he might have written over the past year—things he might have written after their very first meeting, when he thought he’d never see Soonyoung again—all at once, now, like a tsunami that’s been held back until whatever force keeping it at bay crumbled from the strength of it. Wonwoo barely even thinks, until he sits down his pen and shakes out the cramp in his hand, his fingers blistering where the pen had rested. 

What he thinks about is this: maybe he’s hidden this part of him away all this time because the person who’d known it—the _only_ person—had left him. Maybe that fear is still lodged in his chest, clinging to his ribs when he tries to force it out, to tell it it has no place here anymore. 

Either way, Wonwoo hides his notebook away again; thousands of words of Soonyoung bound up and gently returned to the cupboard. He then returns upstairs to the bedroom he shares with the most important person he’s ever known, and sits down on the bed next to him before lightly shaking him awake. “Soonyoung,” he says. He still feels a bit giddy, and even if he still isn’t ready to tell Soonyoung why, he has something to say regardless. 

Soonyoung stirs, and winces as he apparently moves his leg wrong. He yawns, and then his eyes open and gaze tiredly up at Wonwoo. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Wonwoo says, and Soonyoung’s face stays frozen for a few long seconds before his eyebrows lower just a bit in confusion, and then he laughs, in shock and disbelief. The sound rings out in the room, and it makes Wonwoo smile. 

Pushing himself up to sit next to Wonwoo, Soonyoung shakes his head. “Why are y—what, ah...what’s the occasion?” he stammers out finally. 

Wonwoo’s smile widens. “I didn’t think I’d ever said it before.” 

“You _certainly_ have not,” Soonyoung says, but he’s smiling now too. 

“Well. I figured I would, is all.” He reaches up to smooth Soonyoung’s bed-tousled hair a bit. “I figured you knew, but just in case there were any doubts.” When his gaze drops to Soonyoung’s face again, he looks like he may cry. “I hope it’s alright. I...I hope it makes you happy.” He’s whispering as he finishes saying it. Soonyoung places his palms flat against Wonwoo’s cheeks and kisses him. 

It’s still staggering to him after all this time—the sensation of Soonyoung’s mouth against his, the closeness and the trust and the heat of it. It still makes his heartbeat skip to feel wanted and treasured and cared for. When Soonyoung kisses him it makes Wonwoo believe in destiny, or soulmates, or any number of other things he’s never believed in, because magic isn’t real—only how else can Soonyoung’s lips fitting perfectly against his be explained? How can it be that Soonyoung’s heart is jagged in so many of the same ways Wonwoo’s is, the edges lining up and smoothing out perfectly, if Soonyoung hadn’t been made just for Wonwoo, and Wonwoo for him? 

“Of course it makes me happy,” Soonyoung says when they’ve pulled away from each other enough that he can whisper it into the tiny space between them. “Nothing could make me happier than to hear that.” 

Wonwoo looks down. “Nothing?” 

Soonyoung knows where this is going, and lifts Wonwoo’s chin. “What would make you happier, Wonwoo? Having me for the rest of your life, or waking up tomorrow and running to the docks and hopping on a ship and doing what you love again?” It nearly knocks the wind of Wonwoo, the desperate aching _need_ he feels when Soonyoung’s question ends. “See? You can’t choose. Neither outweighs the other.” He smiles at Wonwoo for a bit, and then tilts his head. “Were you not in bed? What were you doing?” 

“I couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk.” 

“...Your boots are exactly where you left them last night.” 

“Are they?” 

Clearly suspicious, Soonyoung squints, but he leaves it alone and smiles. “Suit yourself, sailor man. I’ll get it out of you eventually.” He takes Wonwoo’s hand, and lays down. “Come here, though.” 

“I’m still not tired.” 

Soonyoung grins lazily. “Oh, you mean your most incredible _walk_ didn’t tire you out?” Wonwoo doesn’t respond, only lays down facing Soonyoung, their noses touching. He feels Soonyoung’s hand on his waist, and hears him hum sleepily. “Bet I can think of something that will.” 

  


They go out for drinks one night when Soonyoung is craving the relative hustle and bustle of the city. It’s the dead of winter outside Wonwoo’s garden, which usually puts Wonwoo out of his element, but as most things are, winter is completely different with Soonyoung. Wonwoo hadn’t realized how warm and cozy winter could be, walking in the frigid cold with Soonyoung’s gloved hand in his. Acquaintances Wonwoo sells to wave and greet both of them with smiles, and Wonwoo finds himself eager to return them brightly. 

“Look at you, being friendly. What’s happened to my miserly old curmudgeon?” Soonyoung asks as they enter the tavern. His cheeks and nose are red from the cold, especially since he’s so unused to it now, and he sniffles. The snow that’s landed in his hair is reminiscent of the glitter he used to wear, but Wonwoo doesn’t say that. 

“He’s still in here,” Wonwoo says as they reach an empty table. He helps Soonyoung out of his coat and drapes it over the back of his chair. “Just finding it harder to be curmudgeonly, I suppose.” 

In time, a waitress arrives, and Wonwoo sees in her eyes as soon as she looks at Soonyoung that she recognizes him. “You’re from that carnival!” she exclaims, and Wonwoo grits his teeth. 

Soonyoung takes it in stride, surprisingly easily. “I am,” he says with a blinding smile. “Did you see us last year?” 

“Ten times, at least,” she responds. Under the table, one of Soonyoung’s boots knocks into Wonwoo’s as he fidgets, uncrossing and re-crossing his legs. “Such a shame you were injured.” 

Wonwoo holds his breath as Soonyoung’s smile shifts nearly imperceptibly. “Yes, well...couldn’t be helped, I suppose.” He shrugs his shoulders, and the girl sighs, appropriately sympathetic, and takes their orders, and then walks away—but not before placing a hand on Soonyoung’s shoulder and giving him another small smile. 

That kind of thing only amuses Wonwoo at this point, and the two of them meet each other’s eyes and try to stifle their smiles, then both start giggling quietly. 

“Oh, I feel bad, she was sweet,” Wonwoo says as his laughter subsides. 

“She was,” Soonyoung agrees, sitting back in his chair and drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the table. “But I am very _clearly_ here with my fella, so. She needn't bother.” He smiles once at Wonwoo before looking away, his eyes sweeping the tavern as he worries his lip between his teeth. 

Wonwoo sighs. He does hope this hasn’t ruined their night. Soonyoung handles his situation remarkably well, but every now and then, if a reminder of who he used to be comes out of nowhere, he tends to shuts down, his mind racing with doubt. 

The sound of his fingers tapping the table gets faster, and Wonwoo reaches across to cover Soonyoung’s hand with his own, stroking the back of it once it’s stilled. Soonyoung’s gaze snaps back to Wonwoo. “Do you want to go,” Wonwoo asks, his voice barely audible over the noise of the people around them. 

A moment passes, and then Soonyoung’s features melt into warmth and he shakes his head. “No,” he says simply, so Wonwoo leaves it at that. 

The walk home is slow—Soonyoung can’t go as long as he used to, even just walking. But they keep going, and Wonwoo links their arms together, lets Soonyoung lean on him if he needs to, pretends to drop something if he thinks Soonyoung needs a break but is too embarrassed to ask. By the time the cottage is in sight, he’s limping even worse than usual, and wrinkling his nose every now and then in an attempt not to actually wince in pain. When they enter the gate, Soonyoung begins peeling his winter coat and mittens off immediately, and Wonwoo follows suit as they walk. When they finally find themselves back in the comfort of their home, Soonyoung sinks into the sofa with a long, labored sigh. 

“It hurts tonight,” he says softly, eyes cast to the floor. 

Wonwoo kneels down in front of Soonyoung and unlaces his boots for him, sliding them off gingerly before sitting next to him on the sofa. Soonyoung nestles in against him, his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder and one hand resting on his chest. “How do you do it,” he murmurs after a few minutes of silence. 

“How do I do what?” 

“How have you gone all this time and not completely lost your mind?” 

Wonwoo sighs. “Sailing, you mean.” Against his shoulder, Soonyoung nods. Wonwoo considers, biting his lip. “I don’t know that I haven’t.” 

Soonyoung doesn’t seem to know what to say to that right away, and just mirrors Wonwoo’s sigh. “I hope you don’t think I...it’s just…” He trails off, and rubs idly at Wonwoo’s chest with his fingertips. “Well. You know.” 

Wonwoo kisses the top of his head. “I know.” 

  


~ ~ ~

  


The letter arrives in March. Rain is falling gently over Wonwoo’s property, and Soonyoung is drinking tea at the kitchen table when Wonwoo pops out to meet the courier. Usually, his only correspondence is from people placing orders, or letters for Soonyoung, now that he’s here. Today, though, he receives one from Jeonghan, his flowing script decorating the envelope, flourishing around Wonwoo’s name the way his voice hasn’t in so, so long. Wonwoo looks around, as if he’ll see him lurking across the road, or behind a shrub, feeling panic and confusion rise in his chest. He doesn’t see anything, of course, just Jihoon planting some calendula sprouts Wonwoo had given him in preparation for spring. He hurries back to the cottage and wordlessly hands Soonyoung the letter addressed to him, and then, just as wordlessly, tears open Jeonghan’s. 

_Wonwoo,  
I think I must start by apologizing. I trust you don’t need me to spell out for what. In our last few correspondences you gave the impression that you would rather not hear about what I was doing—so instead of addressing it, I simply stopped writing. I am sorry. I suppose I hadn’t realized how much my leaving would affect you, _

At this point, Wonwoo pauses, squinting at the page. He knows Jeonghan well enough to know that he means well, with all of this. But it is so… _infuriating._ Because it’s not really an apology, is it? _‘I hadn’t realized how much my leaving would affect you?’_ For the first time since this all began, Wonwoo feels the white hot stab of anger in his gut, and everything that hasn’t surfaced in six years boils over. Jeonghan had left him alone, to waste away in a fucking garden, and he’d _never_ wanted that, but what was he meant to do? Too shell-shocked by Jeonghan up and announcing he was going to ask him why or to attempt to change his mind, too heartbroken and preemptively lonely to do anything else. Don’t be sad, Jeonghan had said, you’ll find your own way just the same. But Wonwoo had already _found_ his way, and Jeonghan had snatched it out from under him like opening a trap door, and he hadn’t even stuck around to watch Wonwoo fall. 

And now—now Wonwoo had grown roots. He’d frozen, just as Soonyoung had said. And he doesn’t know why, or how, because settling in one place isn’t anything he’d ever have chosen for himself. He knows all the reasons he’s given Soonyoung, but he feels like there’s something else, something he can’t find amongst the reflections. There must be a reason that he can barely remember what it was like to not know what was on the horizon and not care, wind in his sails and sea spray dusting his cheeks. He knows that here and now, after months spent with Soonyoung, the memory is as close and as clear as it’s been in a long time—but it isn’t enough. Whatever thing Soonyoung has set on fire in his insides, it hasn’t had enough time yet, and it still isn’t enough. When Wonwoo imagines leaving, not knowing what his days will hold, he’s still too scared. Coward, he thinks to himself, coward coward _coward_ — 

“What is that?” Soonyoung asks curiously, with a hint of concern. He seems to have just begun to take notice of the external symptoms of Wonwoo’s internal struggle, and Wonwoo notices them now too—his hands are trembling and he feels as though the color has drained from his face and he feels sick, though there’s probably no way for Soonyoung to have realized that. Looking back from his shaking hands to the words on the page, they clarify again slowly, and grow teeth as they come back into focus. Briefly, Wonwoo considers tearing the letter up, crumpling the pieces in his hands and letting the wind carry them away. 

Wonwoo shakes his head, frowning. “Just orders,” he says, knowing Soonyoung won’t believe him. 

But Soonyoung is far, far too kind, and patient, and considerate, so he stays silent, and doesn’t press, and Wonwoo hates himself for being this much of a terrible fucking _coward_ —for not being nearly good enough to deserve the man who loves him. 

“Who’s yours from,” Wonwoo asks, in an attempt to change the subject. 

“Jisoo,” Soonyoung says. “He’s coming in two weeks to see if I’m fit to go back.” 

Wonwoo looks up. “Two weeks,” he repeats, stunned, nearly forgetting the letter in his pocket. 

Soonyoung gives him a tight-lipped, unconvincing smile. “Two weeks.” 

Mercifully, the two weeks seem to stretch lazily, abnormally long. Winter is lingering abnormally long as well (outside Wonwoo’s garden walls, of course,) so it’s easy to have an excuse to cozy up together—Wonwoo doesn’t sell, doesn’t invite Jihoon or Mingyu for dinner, they don’t go out anywhere; they take this time for themselves, tossing quiet _I love you_ s to each other and pecking each other on the lips before they so much as leave the room. And it’s _nice._ That’s the thing about being so incredibly happy: even with this shadow looming over them, they barely feel it when they can lose themselves in each other so easily. 

But the shadow _is_ felt, even if it isn’t often. It’s apparent in moments when a casual hug has Soonyoung squeezing just a smidge too tight, or when Wonwoo pulls Soonyoung back to him after a kiss, turning even the most innocent peck heated and intense. It’s like they’re both trying to reassure the other how important they are, no matter what happens, and that they’ll figure it out because it’s simply what _has_ to be done; but neither of them can say it, so it’s in every touch and glance and small, inconsequential action instead. Wonwoo knows Soonyoung can’t voice any in-cases about this because he’s terrified of somehow jinxing it, and he hopes that maybe Soonyoung thinks that’s why he’s avoiding it too—but Soonyoung is still too smart for him, and can probably tell it’s actually that he’s not ready. 

‘Not ready’ is something of an understatement, really. Wonwoo has never felt so helpless and confused and unprepared for anything in his life. It isn’t just the idea of Soonyoung leaving, either. The most terrifying part is that if he leaves, he’s going to ask Wonwoo to come with him, and every time Wonwoo tries to think about what he’d say his brain gets turned around, trapped in his personal Fata Morgana again until he’s dizzy, flowers and trees reflected into infinity and closing in on him from all sides, kaleidoscopic and all-consuming. It is maddening, and he has no idea what it means, no idea how to fix it—how to fix _himself,_ no matter how badly he wants to, because Soonyoung deserves someone better than this. 

To his credit, Soonyoung ends up asking when Wonwoo’s mind is most at ease. They’re still naked and sticky with sweat and Soonyoung is lying with his head on Wonwoo’s chest, his breaths evening out against his skin. Wonwoo has a hand in his hair, running his fingers through it and curling them into the shorter hairs near the base of his neck in turns. Eventually, Soonyoung’s head raises, propped up on an elbow—the other hand coming to rest where his head had been. He smiles dreamily. “How much do you love me,” he asks, murmuring quietly though there’s no one to hear them. 

“Hm,” Wonwoo answers nonchalantly, and Soonyoung is already smiling and wrinkling his nose even though Wonwoo’s sarcastic answer hasn’t made it out yet. “I suppose I’d say...a fair amount? An appropriate amount. Respectable. Non-excessive.” Soonyoung rolls his eyes and waits as Wonwoo laughs at his own stupid joke. The laughter fades, and so does his smile, and his voice fades as well, matching Soonyoung’s in volume. “I think...humans barely have the capacity to feel as much as I feel for you,” he says, running one hand up and down Soonyoung’s back, and Soonyoung blinks slowly, satisfied—but Wonwoo keeps going, because he’s been writing, and now he has at least a thousand poetic, superfluous thoughts about Soonyoung floating around in his head at any given moment. “The world could end, and the sun could explode and the planets could crash into each other and whatever god orchestrated it all would tell all their friends how when they looked around and nothing was left, they could still feel the leftover stardust from how much I love you.” 

Soonyoung’s lips have parted, letting out a shaky exhale, his eyebrows knitted together as if he can’t quite believe what he’s heard. His mouth moves silently, until finally his face sets into desperate determination. “Then come with me,” he whispers, almost frantic. “When the carnival comes back for me. Come with me, Wonwoo.” 

It almost hurts, hearing his voice like that. It does hurt, hearing his voice like that and seeing that look on his face and still being unable to give him what he wants. “I—this is where I live,” Wonwoo says, pathetically. Soonyoung just kisses his chest, over his heart. When he raises his head he meets Wonwoo’s gaze fiercely and his fingers trace feather-light over Wonwoo’s heartbeat before his palm settles flat against it. 

“ _This_ is where _I_ live,” he says, and Wonwoo has never ever loved him more. His face must be doing something frightening, because Soonyoung’s expression turns comforting. “I know. I _know_ how hard it is for you. I won’t—I’m not going to force you to leave if you aren’t ready, or give you any ultimatums. But if you can love me through the end of the world, Wonwoo, don’t you think you can leave this place?” His eyes plead with Wonwoo as he searches Wonwoo’s face for something, anything other than unrelenting uncertainty, but he doesn’t find it. “And if you don’t want to come with me, then tell me to stay, and I will stay. That’s all it would take.” 

Wonwoo shakes his head. “I won’t do that. You’d be so unhappy here.” 

“Unhappy?” Soonyoung repeats incredulously. His damp bangs have fallen into his eyes, and Wonwoo lovingly pushes them back from his handsome forehead. 

“Eventually, you’d come to resent this place, and me,” Wonwoo says, smiling sadly. “You’d leave anyway, because eventually I just—I wouldn’t be enough. When they come back for you you have to go with them, and finish getting better, and get up and be spectacular. No matter what I do. It’s who you are.” 

Soonyoung is quiet for a very long moment. Finally, he sighs. “Do you think I love you less than you love me?” 

“It has nothing to do with that.” 

“Do you think I haven’t thought it through, then? Do you think I’d suggest it if I wasn’t sure?” They’d had this conversation before, or something similar, and Soonyoung had been angry. This time he isn’t angry—just sad, just desperate. “Wonwoo, what have I _done?_ What is it I’ve done to make you think you could ever _not be enough?”_

Of course Wonwoo can’t get this right either. He catches his lip between his teeth. “You haven’t…” he says, despising how weak his voice sounds. 

Soonyoung considers, and then sighs, and leans in and kisses Wonwoo, holding his face firm in his hands, his lips moving against Wonwoo’s with purpose. Wonwoo hadn’t lied—none of it has to do with doubting Soonyoung’s love for him. How could he, when he kisses him like this? 

When he pulls away with one final peck to Wonwoo’s bottom lip, he doesn’t go far, and he doesn’t meet Wonwoo’s eyes right away. “I can’t stand that you’re waiting for me to break your heart,” he says. Wonwoo shakes his head, though Soonyoung’s still not looking at him. Finally, he rolls off of Wonwoo and onto his back next to him, staring at the ceiling. The sudden absence of the heat of his body on Wonwoo’s makes him shiver and ache. Soonyoung pulls the bed sheet up to his chest, and then slings an arm over his eyes. “I _don’t want to go without you,_ ” he says. 

Still, Wonwoo can’t find the right thing to say. “Soonyoung,” he tries, his voice quivering. 

Soonyoung sits up, and Wonwoo follows. At last, their eyes meet again. Though he’s much sadder now, Soonyoung isn’t crying, the same determination still evident in his eyes instead of tears. He lifts his hands to cradle Wonwoo’s face in his fingertips. “I could be your home, Wonwoo. If you’d only let me.” 

He already is, if Wonwoo could only let him know. 

“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung says, shaking his head just a bit. “If it was too sudden. You don’t have to answer me yet. But please…” His palms flatten against Wonwoo’s cheeks, thumbs brushing against his skin. “Think about it for me, Wonwoo. Don’t tell me no. Not yet.” 

_Say yes,_ he’s screaming at himself. Everything in his body and his brain and his heart is telling him to just say yes, and he still can’t. He knows he doesn’t want to be here, and he can’t say it. He can voice his concerns, vaguely, to Soonyoung. He can talk about leaving, someday, maybe. But he can’t commit to it when it’s in front of him, even when he knows it’s what he wants. He shakes his head quickly, trying to clear the haze that’s gathering quickly. “Wonwoo?” Soonyoung says, confusion and concern on his face. 

_Say something, say anything._ “I…” _I want to be with you. I don’t want you to think I wouldn’t do absolutely anything for you. I want to go with you._ Nothing. It all gets stuck to the roof of his mouth and threatens to choke him. 

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says again, looking almost scared now. “It’s alright. Okay? I told you, you don’t have to decide right now—” 

“It was from Jeonghan,” Wonwoo forces out, in his desperation to explain himself, to give Soonyoung _anything_ but inexplicable, unfair silence. “That letter. It wasn’t orders. It was Jeonghan.” 

Soonyoung goes quiet. “Oh,” he says. “I wondered if it might have been.” He leaves it at that, not pressing Wonwoo for more. But Wonwoo’s insides are boiling, so he keeps talking anyway. 

“He apologized for leaving...in this very ‘sorry if your _feelings_ got hurt’ kind of way...” Wonwoo huffs out an empty, dark laugh, and shakes his head. Soonyoung reaches toward him hesitantly and almost takes Wonwoo’s hand in his own, but twitches it back at the last second. 

“...Are you…alright?” 

Wonwoo laughs again, and then his jaw sets. “I’m angry.” He shakes his head. “I’m really fucking angry. And I shouldn’t be.” 

The expression on Soonyoung’s face shifts. “I think you’re well within your rights to be—” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Wonwoo says, cutting him off abruptly, outrage still coloring his words. “I mean I should have _felt_ this already, and I never have. I can’t remember being angry at all, not once. I’ve...I was sad but it just faded away to _nothing_ and then I felt nothing for five fucking years.” The outrage fades to distress as he speaks, and that fades too, until he’s nearly whispering. Soonyoung is looking at him, wide-eyed and worried. He brings a hand up to Wonwoo’s cheek, and Wonwoo grabs it, holds it tight, looks fiercely into Soonyoung’s eyes. “But I would never have met you otherwise. If he hadn’t gone. If I’d kept traveling. So I forgive him.” Soonyoung lets out a shaky, quiet breath, and Wonwoo takes a moment to breathe as well. “There’s no point being angry with him. I forgive him,” he says. “I don’t know if I forgive myself. For—this. For letting myself be...” He trails off, and sighs. 

By now Soonyoung’s eyes have filled with tears, and he shakes his head. “Don’t _say_ that, Wonwoo,” he says, his voice heavy with the effort of trying not to cry. “You’re perfect.” 

The fuzziness in his head is growing, but Wonwoo’s focus is still smoldering. “But it isn’t _me,_ ” he whispers, some of the leftover anger giving way to terror, because this has been it, all along—the numbness, the distortion, the willingness to plant himself in the earth and only just do enough to keep himself alive, never enough to let himself flower. 

Soonyoung’s brow furrows, and he blinks quickly, sending a few tears finally skittering down his cheeks. He sniffles, and then he takes a deep breath. “You’ve changed so much since I met you, you know.” His voice cracks, but there’s still conviction behind it. “Remember you told me I make you feel like yourself? I can see it, now. I can see you becoming more _you._ And I don’t—I don’t know that I think the person I got to know a year ago _wasn’t_ you, because the things that drew me to you haven’t changed. The reasons I fell in love with you haven’t changed. You’re just...brighter now, or something. There’s even more of what I fell in love with.” By the time he pauses, Wonwoo is squeezing his hand as hard as he can, and Soonyoung simply brings his other hand over top of Wonwoo’s, caressing it until he loosens his grip again. “I think...you know, you’re only just realizing these things with any sort of finality, and it scares you. And maybe you haven’t been as much of yourself as you could have been, but you’re getting back to it. It is _happening._ Give yourself a little slack.” 

Swallowing hard, Wonwoo tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling. He knows Soonyoung is right, but when will it have _happened?_ He’s so close he can taste it, and the tiny thing that lit up inside him all that time ago is an inferno, now; so much so that he thinks he could breathe fire. He’s beginning to think he’ll be stuck in this terrible _almost_ forever. It’s almost worse than if he’d just stayed the way he was, never realizing there was anything off. 

“What if I never find my way out,” he says, feeling some of the tension leave his body. Soonyoung is still stroking the back of his hand. “What if I can’t?” 

“You will. You _are._ ” Soonyoung leans his forehead against Wonwoo’s. “And if it gets too hard, you just follow the sound of my voice. I’ll hold your hand and pull you out myself, if I have to.” Wonwoo sighs, letting Soonyoung’s words wash over him. “You’re doing so well,” he whispers, moving back to look at Wonwoo, and then to kiss his forehead. “You’re moving forward. I know you feel it too, Jeon Wonwoo. I know you do.” 

The problem is that he does. He feels it so, so much, and he still can’t do anything about it. “I love you,” he says, because it’s all he can say, apparently—and then he lets out a sob, and then another, and Soonyoung, in frantic disbelief, gathers him into his arms as he starts to cry. He buries his face in Soonyoung’s shoulder and he _cries,_ harder than he can ever, ever remember crying; and it only makes sense, since just as he hasn’t been angry in all this time, he hasn’t felt the need to cry either. 

“No, no, no, shh…” Soonyoung is saying, one hand resting at the back of Wonwoo’s head. “I’m here, sailor man, I have you...oh, Wonwoo, I didn’t mean to make you upset…” He sniffles. “We’re going to figure it out, I promise.” 

_In a week?_ Wonwoo wants to ask, but he doesn’t dare. 

  


Soonyoung treads carefully around him over the next seven days, until their time together has dwindled to nearly nothing, and he wakes Wonwoo up in the middle of the night. “I want to go to the beach again,” he says. 

Wonwoo gawks at him. “Now?” He nods. “It’s below freezing out, Soonyoung.” 

“Please?” The _before I go_ remains unsaid, but Wonwoo hears it anyway. 

So they find themselves at the beach, cheeks red, shivering—Wonwoo could never say no to Soonyoung. Wonwoo keeps his eyes on him as he stares into the horizon, and then he turns toward Wonwoo, catching him staring, and reaches up to cup one of Wonwoo’s cheeks. “It’s strange seeing you cold.” As Wonwoo laughs, his breath comes out white, curling in the air and disappearing. “See. Strange. I’m not used to you like this,” Soonyoung says, smiling fondly. 

One of Soonyoung’s mittened hands slides into Wonwoo’s. “Does it suit me?” Wonwoo asks. 

Silently, Soonyoung nods. His eyes roam Wonwoo’s face. “Your little red nose is awfully sweet,” he says, leaning up to brush his own against it. Both of them are chuckling when he sits back again. There’s a quiet melancholy hanging around them in the frigid air, even with Soonyoung’s joking. “I want to see you in every season. I know you’d be perfect in all of them.” He doesn’t say it to pressure Wonwoo, or to guilt him. He says it because he means it. Turning toward Wonwoo again, he cocks his head to one side. “What’s your favorite season?” 

Wonwoo grins, and looks down at the sand. “Autumn,” he answers. “I miss it. Imagine having all those trees, and never getting to watch the leaves change.” 

“I bet if the pond froze, we could skate on it.” Soonyoung looks off into the distance again. “I am an _excellent_ skater, you know.” 

“You’re excellent at everything,” Wonwoo retorts, amused. An icy wind blows in off the water, and he shivers. 

Soonyoung doesn’t answer right away. “I’m not,” he says, crossing his arms and shrinking into himself. “Is there anyone around here who does tattoos?” 

Wonwoo shrugs. “I got all mine from people on the crew. Or far away from here.” 

Light begins to sparkle off the waves as the sun rises on their last day together. Soonyoung nods absently. “Hm,” he says, his voice suddenly empty. “Shame.” 

The walk back to the cottage is silent. When they get back, and shed their winter coats, Soonyoung clears his throat, looking anywhere but Wonwoo’s face. “I need to pack,” he says, and walks up the stairs. Wonwoo watches him for a moment, then follows, calling his name just as he’s walking through their bedroom door. He turns around, looking at Wonwoo as firmly as he can, and Wonwoo can see what he’s doing, how he doesn’t think Wonwoo will come with him and he doesn’t want it to be harder than it’s already going to be. Wonwoo shakes his head minutely, and Soonyoung huffs. “You can’t just _shake your head,_ it isn’t—” 

He’s cut off by Wonwoo’s lips covering his. Still cold from their walk, he gasps into the heat of Wonwoo’s mouth and throws his arms around his neck. Hurriedly, they undress each other, until they’ve fumbled their way out of their clothes and onto the bed—Soonyoung clambers into Wonwoo’s lap and that’s how they stay, clinging tightly to each other. Wonwoo memorizes the feeling of Soonyoung’s skin on his, the smell of his hair and his sweat, the sound of his shallow breaths and the way he cries out softly as they move together. He’s so perfect it’s unfair, he feels so good it’s _unfair,_ and the way he looks at Wonwoo and clenches around him and trembles in his arms makes Wonwoo moan raggedly and bury his face in his neck. Wonwoo’s fingertips dig into Soonyoung’s sides, and his back, pressing hard enough to bruise, and when he looks up again, Soonyoung has his head thrown back and his eyes closed. “Soonyoung,” he says, and he doesn’t have to say anything else—Soonyoung’s eyes open and his gaze returns to Wonwoo’s. He moves slower, and Wonwoo takes in every detail: the lips he’s kissed a thousand times, the freckles he loves so much, the scar on his chin from the injury Wonwoo himself had bandaged. Soonyoung kisses Wonwoo again, even slower than his movements, breathing hot into Wonwoo’s mouth. There’s a moment where he pulls back, just a bit, and looks into Wonwoo’s eyes like he’s going to say something—but he thinks better of it, and just kisses him again, harder, muffling a whimper. Lightly, Wonwoo ghosts his hands up and down Soonyoung’s back, and then he curls his arms around him, holding him as close as he can, until there’s no space left between them for doubt or worry or sadness, only skin and ink and love. 

They fall asleep after—they’d gotten up so early, after all, and they don’t stop after the first one, or the second, so exhaustion sets in quickly—and wake up in mid-afternoon, by Wonwoo’s estimate. Or, more accurately, Wonwoo wakes up, sees the bed empty, and hears movement, turning his head to see Soonyoung dressed and gathering his clothes out of Wonwoo’s wardrobe. Silently, Wonwoo sits up, and peers into the floor, looking for his own clothes— 

“On the end of the bed, dear.” At the sound of Soonyoung’s voice, Wonwoo’s head raises to find him smiling at him warmly. He stands, and dresses, watching Soonyoung pack his things into a trunk with his back to him. He desperately wishes the two of them could have met another way, at another time, in any place other than here in this garden he’s trapped in. And maybe he really _is_ trapped. Maybe Soonyoung was right, and it’s like he said that time—maybe it isn’t his fault, or in his head, maybe this place is cursed and it sucked the life out of him all those years ago so it could stay perfect year round. But if that were the case, shouldn’t it have wilted over the past year, as Wonwoo’s days and nights and feelings slowly came back to life? But it didn’t, of course. It stayed the same, because that’s what it does. Maybe it’s naive to think he can ever hack his way out of this place that suffocates him, for all its beauty and splendor and _magic._ The thought fills him with anger, red and scalding, just as the letter had. 

Wonwoo looks at Soonyoung’s back, and imagines him at the bow of a ship, framed by the sky and silhouetted by the sun. He belongs in a place like that, a place he can be free—and Wonwoo won’t be the one to tether him down. Soonyoung deserves so much more. But what about him? Doesn’t he deserve more? Doesn’t he _want_ more? Doesn’t he deserve to feel again? He crosses the room and feels the floor sway under his bare feet. He reaches out and closes his fingers around Soonyoung’s wrist and hears ocean waves. Soonyoung turns to him. “I’ll come with you,” Wonwoo says, before he’s even realized, and Soonyoung’s eyes go impossibly wide and he shakes his head rapidly in disbelief. “I’ll come with you.” 

Soonyoung’s mouth falls open just before he shoves Wonwoo as hard as he can by the shoulders. It sends him stumbling back a few steps. “The day before?!” Soonyoung shouts. “You wait until the _day before_ to tell me?! You leave me wondering and despairing for all this time without a single care for my well-being—” 

“Well, alright, _listen,_ ” Wonwoo says, smiling and rubbing at his shoulder, “it isn’t as though I knew and kept it from you, it took a—” Soonyoung cuts him off with a kiss, and tackles him into the bed. Wonwoo tries to protest: “Your _knee,_ Soonyoung—” but Soonyoung is too determined, kissing him over and over, on his lips and his cheeks and his nose and his cheeks again and his lips again, and his lips again, and his lips again. 

“I love you—I love you—I love you,” he’s saying between each one, smiling and laughing and crying. Wonwoo smiles too, and Soonyoung hugs him tight, head resting against Wonwoo’s chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, I’m so happy, thank you,” he murmurs. Wonwoo swallows, Soonyoung’s hair tickling his neck, and locks his hands at the small of Soonyoung’s back. Truthfully, even now, he’s terrified. He doesn’t know what’ll happen when he sets foot off his property with the intention of never returning. Soonyoung shakes his head earnestly. “I didn’t want to go without you. I don’t know if I could have done it, Wonwoo, I really don’t. I can’t be without you, not now.” 

At any rate, he’s said it. He’s told Soonyoung he’ll go, and he’s never been able to say it before, so maybe—maybe now that he has, his words can speak it into existence. He takes a deep breath, and reassures himself: _you can leave. You can go. You don’t have to be here. You don’t belong here._ The entire time they pack their things, it echoes through his head: _you can leave. You can go. You don’t have to be here. You don’t belong here._ As Soonyoung tells him all the things he’ll see, traveling with the carnival, he repeats it, over and over and over, hoping it’ll stick: 

_You can leave. You can go. You don’t have to be here. You don’t belong here._

When Jisoo arrives, Wonwoo and Soonyoung are snuggled up together on the sofa, boxes and trunks scattered across the floor. At the knock on the door, Wonwoo gets up, and squeezes Soonyoung’s hand one last time before going upstairs—he’d said he wanted to talk to Jisoo alone first, and Wonwoo wasn’t going to argue. As he waits, he looks out the window, across his sprawling garden: there’s the strawberry patch, there’s the apple grove, there’s the path to down to the pond. Even from up here, from a distance, he can point it all out. But he wants to see things he doesn’t know by heart. He’s _going_ to see things he doesn’t know by heart. He feels a tiny surge of excitement, finally, instead of uncertainty. 

“Wonwoo,” he hears, Soonyoung’s voice coming from the doorway, too loud, clunky in a way he isn’t used to. He turns around and finds Soonyoung—but he’s looking past him, out the window instead of at him, looking dazed and blinking slow. 

It can only mean one thing, but Wonwoo doesn’t want to believe it, he doesn’t want Soonyoung to have to go through this, he doesn’t want this to _happen_ to them when Wonwoo had _just_ convinced himself he could escape—”What is it,” he whispers, his throat suddenly dry. 

Soonyoung’s eyes shift to Wonwoo. “It’s—” he says, and then his eyes drop to the floor. Wonwoo crosses the room with fog clouding his brain, guiding Soonyoung to sit on the bed next to him. Soonyoung shakes his head as Wonwoo touches him, his breath coming heavier, and when he finally looks up and meets his eyes everything spills out at once. “It was worse than Jisoo thought and I—I haven’t taken care of it right, because he didn’t realize, there was no way to know, he—he explained it but I don’t...I didn’t understand, it’s some kind of—I don’t know, it just, it hasn’t healed properly because I didn’t _know—_ ” Tears fill his eyes. “He says walking is fine but I can’t...can’t...anything more than walking is...because it could go at any time, and I could get hurt even worse—” Wonwoo pulls him into his arms when the tears start rolling down his face in earnest, holds his head in the crook of his neck and strokes his hair. His own heart is pounding wildly and his eyes shift around the room, the whiplash of emotion nearly too much to handle. But Soonyoung is sobbing, clutching onto his vest, and he can’t think about himself right now. “What do I do,” Soonyoung wails, and Wonwoo realizes he’s crying too. “I don’t know what I do if I can’t go back, I don’t know who I am…” 

It’s too terrible to even imagine, and Wonwoo opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His mind is still reeling too violently—but only until he realizes he _has_ to say _something._ “You don’t have to know what to do right now,” he says, his voice scratchy and wet with tears. “It’s...it’s going to take time. But you _have_ time. Right now you just—be sad.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes at himself—god, it all just sounds so stupid as it comes out of his mouth. “I don’t think there’s anything else you can do. And...eventually, it won’t hurt quite as much to think about, and then you’ll figure something out. I know you will. And I’ll help however I can. But you have to give yourself some time, love.” 

Gradually, Soonyoung’s sobs slow down a bit, and he sniffs loudly, and then he looks up, face blotchy and red and wet. “I love you so much,” he says, voice breaking halfway through. “If this happened and I didn’t have you—” 

“But you do. Always.” 

Soonyoung’s lip trembles. “You love me even if I can’t fly?” 

Wonwoo’s eyebrows knit together as his mouth falls open. “I—what? Soonyoung, _yes,_ you can’t honestly be asking—” More tears slide down Soonyoung’s cheeks, and Wonwoo raises his hands to wipe them away. “I love you if you can’t fly, I’d love you if you couldn’t walk, I’d love you if you couldn’t _move._ I’m in love with _you._ And you are _still_ my shooting star.” 

In an instant Soonyoung’s arms are tight around Wonwoo’s neck and he’s crying into Wonwoo’s shoulder again. Wonwoo lets him, eventually laying them down on the bed and keeping Soonyoung tucked against his chest. He waits, holding him and crying with him until he’s cried himself out, until Soonyoung gives this heavy, shuddering sigh, and untangles one arm from around Wonwoo so that he can wipe at his eyes. 

“Did Jisoo leave,” Wonwoo asks, after he’s made sure Soonyoung seems to be done crying. 

He clears his throat, and it still takes a moment for him to find his voice. “I told him to go on.” Wonwoo nods, though Soonyoung hasn’t un-buried his face from his chest. “They’re rehearsing here. They’re starting here again this season.” Something like a laugh bubbles out of him. “You’d think the people in this town would be sick of that fucking show by now.” 

“Or at least that they’d wise up to the fact that they’re getting swindled,” Wonwoo says. 

Soonyoung laughs again. Finally, he looks up at Wonwoo, resting one hand on his cheek. “I...Wonwoo, we were going to leave, and I don’t...I don’t know where to—” He bites his lip. “I don’t know if I can go back and do something else. I’m so sorry, you’d finally decided to go and all…” 

Wonwoo shakes his head. “It’s _alright_ , Soonyoung, look at how long you waited for me. How patient you’ve been? The least I can do…” Tears spring suddenly to his eyes again, for Soonyoung and for himself and for the losses they’ve both been dealt today. “The _least_ I can do is—” 

At the sight of Wonwoo crying, Soonyoung smiles gently, if a little sadly. “You don’t owe me anything, Wonwoo."

Sniffling, Wonwoo squeezes his eyes shut. "I should have made you go to a doctor," he forces out pathetically, but Soonyoung only shakes his head. 

"You know I wouldn't have." Wonwoo looks away, but Soonyoung cups his chin, making him face him again. "Everything I’ve done for you I’d do a thousand times over. Besides,” he says, lowering his eyes. “You’ve had to take care of me all this time, and deal with me not being able to get myself around, and saying awful things to you—” 

“And I’d do it a thousand times over,” Wonwoo assures him. A thousand times over still wouldn’t be enough to repay Soonyoung for everything he’s given him, but he’ll never believe that, even if Wonwoo tries to convince him until he’s blue in the face. He sniffs, hard, and wipes his eyes. “We must be even, then. I don’t think people in love are supposed to keep score, anyway.” 

Soonyoung nods, grinning and wrinkling his nose up. He lets out one of his dreamy sighs, and kisses the corner of Wonwoo’s mouth. “I love when you talk about how in love we are.” 

“Well. We are _quite_ in love.” 

“Indeed. Quite.” The smile falls from his lips, slowly. “I’m _sad,_ Wonwoo,” he whispers. “I don’t know if my heart can take this, it hurts so _much._ ” 

Wonwoo pulls him close again. “You have the strongest heart of anyone I know.” Soonyoung sighs softly. “And if it isn’t enough, you can use mine.” 

  


~ ~ ~

  


They find the first dead flower the next day. Soonyoung says Wonwoo’s name, and when Wonwoo turns around he’s knelt down on the ground, picking something up. He holds it out in the palm of his hand for Wonwoo to see. “Is that normal?” 

Wonwoo turns the brown, dry blossom over in his hands. “For this place?” He glances up at Soonyoung. “No. It's not.” 

The next day, everything seems less blindingly vibrant. Both he and Soonyoung notice it, and he can tell Soonyoung is much more unsettled than he is. “Did you feel that,” Soonyoung asks when a breeze blows across their faces, only just noticeably cooler than normal. Wonwoo nods, and the breeze picks up again, making them both shiver. 

The day after that, the temperature drops lower than Wonwoo has ever felt it. Wonwoo can’t even say it surprises him: he’s never understood why this place is the way it is. Truthfully, at this point, he’d welcome the change that seems to be coming, if he didn’t see the way the leaves curl away from Soonyoung’s fingertips, the way they go brown at the edges wherever he steps. It breaks his heart when he sees Soonyoung take notice of it as well, his lips parting before he jerks his hand away. He doesn’t say anything to Wonwoo, stays silent and watching out the window for any further change, and by the end of a week they wake up to the entire property frostbitten and blue. 

Soonyoung stands in the center of the path leading down to the pond, now frozen solid, wrapped in an afghan that’s dusty from being packed in a closet. They’d talked about skating on the pond, if winter came here. The memory stings, now. Wonwoo stands a few paces away from Soonyoung, who is staring silently up at the trees. “It’s snowing,” he says suddenly. Sidling up next to him, Wonwoo follows his gaze—he’s right. The flakes falling are huge and fluffy and wet, and Wonwoo watches in awe for a few seconds before looking back to Soonyoung. 

“I killed it,” Soonyoung says, finally turning his face away from the sky. Wonwoo shakes his head even as Soonyoung moves close and wraps his arms around his midriff, sniffling. “It’s me. I killed it. I ruined the magic.” 

They stay that way until the snow starts to collect at their shoulders and in their hair, melting slowly and leaving damp spots. “Let’s go inside,” Wonwoo pleads, wishing he could do anything to warm Soonyoung up, or to make him realize how spectacular he is on his own, on solid ground—but he doesn’t know how, and Soonyoung just keeps shivering. 

For the first time in years, Wonwoo lights a fire in his hearth. Soonyoung stares into it, the flames reflecting in his eyes, glassy from tears. They curl up together on the sofa, cocooned in every blanket Wonwoo managed to dig out of the trunks he’d packed when he thought he was leaving. They still sit scattered about the house—neither had had the heart to unpack, only taking out fresh clothes and dishes and whatever they need to keep living here as they go along. It hurts to see them sitting around, too, though; Wonwoo thinks there’s probably no winning, especially not for Soonyoung, but… _god,_ Wonwoo had wanted to leave, and he feels it even more now. He tries not to, because it shouldn’t be about him, but it creeps up on him and threatens to suffocate him with how _close_ he’d gotten. 

He pushes it down. He wraps his arms around Soonyoung, who still has silent tears running down his blank, expressionless face. He whispers to him: things he’s written about him, about how much he loves him and how perfect he is, and hopes that it can make him forget his sadness, or the cold, even for a second. They don’t move, not for the rest of the evening—Soonyoung doesn’t get up, so Wonwoo certainly isn’t going to—and they end up falling asleep there. Wonwoo falls asleep far, far further into the night than Soonyoung does, watching Soonyoung’s chest rise and fall and his eyebrows furrow and the corners of his mouth twitch. He wonders what he’s dreaming about. He hopes with everything in him that it’s something good. 

The fire has gone out when Wonwoo wakes up, but it’s already noticeably warmer anyway. He blinks sleepily, glancing out the window—the sun is out. Even just from the sliver of outdoors visible, it’s like he can see the grass getting ready to green up again, the leaves on the trees preparing to bud. He looks to his left—Soonyoung is already awake, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. He doesn’t appear to have noticed Wonwoo yet, and he looks almost peaceful. Wonwoo gets up, letting the blankets fall down around his feet, and strides to the front door, flinging it open. He breathes in deeply, one enormous gulp of air that’s completely clean, no sickly sweetness, no fragrance at all. He closes his eyes, feeling the still relatively chilly air against his skin. “Morning,” he hears Soonyoung say, and turns around. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

Soonyoung stands up and takes his teacup to the sink. “For yesterday. I just don’t want you to think you don’t make me happy. I don’t want you to think it’s you.” He turns around, leaning against the counter. “It’s like you said, eventually it won’t hurt as much. I just need time.” He shrugs. 

Wonwoo tilts his head. “I know, Soonyoung.” He’s done a complete about-face from how he’d been yesterday, and the abruptness doesn’t sit right. 

“You’re...the love of my life, you know.” He shuffles over to Wonwoo and kisses him. 

“And you’re mine,” Wonwoo says, still a bit skeptical. 

Soonyoung grins, just a little. “So how bad could it be, really, to stay here with the love of my life? Soon enough I’ll feel better, and—then I think the magic will come back. I think it’s already started.” The words make Wonwoo wrinkle his brow, realization nudging at the edge of his mind. “If I have to stay in one place, this is an awfully pretty one.” 

Right then, Wonwoo swears he hears the cries of gulls echoing in his head—as well as Soonyoung’s voice: _I think the magic will come back. I think the magic will come back. I think you froze when this stupid garden did._ He steps back from Soonyoung, shaking his head. For the first time, Wonwoo understands—completely clearly, no fuzziness, no distortions—that the right person can’t always fix the wrong place. And this is the wrong place. This place is wrong. The birds know it, the insects know it, the animals know it, Soonyoung knew it all that time ago, and finally, _finally,_ he knows it too: whatever it is that makes this place the way it is is _wrong._ He thinks back to when he’d frantically wondered if it had been sucking the life out of him, and maybe it has. He’s never had a good explanation to give anyone who’d ever asked—maybe that’s it. Or maybe it’s in his head after all. He doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. What he does know is how easy it had been to stay here because he’d been here, how he hadn’t given it a second thought. What he knows is the idea of Soonyoung disappearing into this place and hiding from the world the way he himself had fills him with dread. “I don’t care about the fucking _magic,_ Soonyoung.” 

Soonyoung’s eyebrows raise. “I thought you didn’t believe in magic?” he asks. 

“I thought _you_ thought this place was cursed.” 

“I…” This look crawls across Soonyoung’s face, brows furrowing and lip caught between his teeth and eyes shifting to look blankly at a spot on Wonwoo’s collar. Wonwoo knows this look. Wonwoo _knows_ this look, and if Soonyoung could see it, he’d recognize it too. “I do…?” 

Gingerly, Wonwoo steps forward. Soonyoung’s eyes raise to meet the determined look Wonwoo’s giving him. “We can’t stay here, Soonyoung,” he says, quietly, as if it has to be kept secret. 

Expression still flooded with confusion, Soonyoung blinks. He blinks some more, and then his eyes seem to focus. “No,” he murmurs. “No, we can’t.” 

“We’re still packed.” 

Soonyoung nods.

“We can just go.” 

“I…” Soonyoung whispers. “It’s just that...I don’t—” 

He looks terrified, so Wonwoo takes his face firmly in his hands. “This isn’t our home. Neither of us belong here.” Soonyoung exhales hard, bringing his hands up to encircle Wonwoo’s wrists. He nods, slow at first, getting surer as he goes, like he can’t believe he hadn’t agreed right away. Wonwoo kisses him, hoping it’ll—he doesn’t even know. He feels crazy, but he doesn’t know what he thinks this place is, anymore. “We have to go, Soonyoung,” he says when he pulls away, looking into Soonyoung’s eyes fiercely, speaking slow and clear. “We have to do it now, before it grows back.” 

Whatever it is, magic or not, crazy or not, it can’t have Soonyoung. Soonyoung can’t become what Wonwoo was. He won’t let it steal Soonyoung’s colors to paint its flowers. 

Soonyoung nods again, looking more like himself, and pulls Wonwoo closer. “Where,” he asks, voice steady and assured. 

Wonwoo hasn’t thought that far ahead. He bites his lip. “Do you want to go home?” he asks softly, wincing when Soonyoung’s face falls. 

“I can’t, Wonwoo, I just—” 

“Alright,” Wonwoo says, his mind whirring so fast there must be steam coming out of his ears. “Alright. Not now. But do you think, maybe someday? Would you want to?” 

Soonyoung’s shoulders slump. “Of course,” he says, his voice breaking. 

It’s enough for Wonwoo to follow the train of thought he’s on. “Then listen to me. It...it doesn’t matter that you can’t fly anymore. That has only _ever_ been one small piece of what makes you special.” Judging by the way Soonyoung’s shaking his head, smiling this sad, empty smile, he doesn’t believe him. Wonwoo takes Soonyoung’s hands in his own. “Do you know the moment I knew I had to be with you?” 

Reluctantly, Soonyoung’s grin turns genuine. “You’re saying it wasn’t the moment you saw me?” 

Wonwoo chuckles. “Sorry, love. No. And you weren’t flying through the air, either. But you _were_ performing.” 

The smile on Soonyoung’s face widens, though he tries to stifle it. “That night in the square,” he says. Wonwoo beams. Always so smart, his shooting star. 

“I know it isn’t the same. But you’re always spinning some ridiculous yarn for me, and I never tire of listening—and you _looked_ happy.” Soonyoung has teared up. “Were you happy?” 

He nods, tears spilling out of his eyes, and his voice breaks when he speaks again. “...Eventually I’d run out of stories to tell.” 

After a moment, an incredulous smile turns Wonwoo’s mouth up at the corners. He laughs, just once, and then more, until it’s bubbling out of him and Soonyoung is staring at him as if he’s gone crazy. Turning to the piles of trunks, Wonwoo eyes them, trying desperately to remember the one he’s looking for. When he finds it, he digs through the top layer of clothes he’d haphazardly thrown in to hide his notebooks. He picks up three, and stands, and rushes back to Soonyoung. “Not if I can help it,” he says breathlessly, thrusting them into Soonyoung’s hands. 

Soonyoung’s jaw drops, and he opens the first notebook lightning fast. “What are these?” he asks, flipping through the pages. “Did you write these? You _write?”_ His fingers trace Wonwoo’s handwriting. He looks up, and shoves at Wonwoo’s shoulder. “ _Wonwoo,_ you didn’t tell me?!” 

It feels _so_ good to tell him. 

“I haven’t since I stopped sailing—or, I hadn’t, until recently. I’m...remembering how, I think. Slowly.” 

Soonyoung scans a few more pages, and looks up at Wonwoo. “They’re about _magic,_ ” he says, beaming and awestruck, before looking down again, clearing his throat, sniffling once, and sitting the books down at the kitchen table. He crosses his arms, and narrows his eyes. “So you’re proposing a double act, then?” 

Smiling crookedly, Wonwoo shrugs. “What do you say, shooting star?” 

Soonyoung sticks his nose in the air. “Well...first of all, we’re going to need to plan. Thoroughly. _And_ practice. And I’ll need fresh stories—I can’t be going back to Lucky 13 and _not_ be the best at what I’m doing. I won’t be in any second-rate, two-bit street act. So.” Wonwoo barely remembers what they’d been talking about five minutes ago, blinking dreamily as the Soonyoung who’s been missing since Jisoo gave him his prognosis manifests in front of his eyes. “Where exactly would you propose we make our preparations, sir?” 

Anywhere, if they’re together. “Where do you want to go?” 

He taps the small stack of notebooks with one finger. “What inspired these?” 

Smiling softly, Wonwoo shakes his head and shrugs.

“You know what inspired those.” 

Grinning and wrinkling his nose in the most Soonyoung way, he steps forward to hook his arms around Wonwoo’s waist. “I’ve never been on a ship.” 

Wonwoo breathes in, shakily, and then out. “It’s been a very, very long time.” 

“Well then, sailor man,” Soonyoung says, and the cottage falls away, the flowers fall away, the grass and the trees and the sky all fall away. “It would appear we have our heading.” 

 

_**v. anchors aweigh**_

Mingyu and Jihoon are charged with harvesting what they want of the acres of produce, so long as they do it together, and leave after, and lock the gate behind them. Wonwoo tells them to take care of each other, and when Mingyu’s fingers twitch toward Jihoon’s, Jihoon doesn’t pull away. It makes Wonwoo sad to leave them, especially now, when he’s finally himself, and he could finally _really_ be their friend, and make up for the years he spent only half-existing. Perhaps they’ll come back to visit—he’s sure they will, Wonwoo thinks they’d have hell to pay if they didn’t—and when they do, Wonwoo will look at his garden gate the way he is now, as they’re about to head off to the docks, having left what they couldn’t carry with them in Jihoon’s shed for safekeeping. Eventually, Wonwoo thinks, the flowers will wilt for good. The trees he loved so well will drop their pink, fragrant blossoms, and the gate will find itself wired shut by vines, curling through its hinges and around and around its bars. The seasons, soon enough, will come to this place again—but that, Wonwoo has to remind himself, is how it’s supposed to be. Things aren’t supposed to stay the same. 

The Raconteur had been decommissioned three years ago, and the captain had retired, but the dockmaster recognizes Wonwoo as he tells him, and assures him he can find him a captain twice as stout, and a ship that’ll take him thrice as far. Wonwoo smiles, and says make it four times as far—he has lost time to make up for. 

“Is that enough to earn me a swallow?” Soonyoung asks from behind him—Wonwoo turns to him as he’s hoisting his bag up over his shoulder, leaning on his walking stick and grinning slyly. 

“If it’s not, we’ll just have to go again.” 

It isn’t anything profound when Wonwoo steps up the gangplank—if anything, there’s relief, familiarity, because this—this is coming home for him. He feels the same old quiet excitement he always felt at the uncertainty of a new adventure. It’s the presence of Soonyoung that makes it different, the prospect of showing him things he’s never seen before; of seeing new things together. Really, when Wonwoo thinks about it, he’s not sure he could have sailed by himself if he’d tried. It wouldn’t have been the same without anyone to share it, and maybe that’s what Wonwoo loved most all along. 

As for Soonyoung, he takes to the sea as he takes to most things: easily and enthusiastically, though it does take him days to find his sea legs. It only gives them an excuse to hold each other, to lean on each other as they always have. Soonyoung and the ocean complement each other and mirror each other in the very best ways, which of course just makes Wonwoo love them more. Both are exciting but familiar, unpredictable from day to day but always comforting; the sea stretches across the globe while staying in one place, and Soonyoung travels the globe while staying at Wonwoo’s side. Nothing has ever made Wonwoo feel as free or as loved or as understood—the ocean had always understood him, of course, and Soonyoung had had his ways of getting to the heart of Wonwoo since the very beginning—now, though, he feels like he understands himself, and it casts everything he sees and feels in a new light. 

He never does get a good explanation for his garden. He doesn’t try to. On one of the early nights on the ship, Soonyoung lays in Wonwoo’s arms and asks him if he thinks it was really magic—Wonwoo says no, because there’s no such thing, but he says it with a secret smile, one he learned from Soonyoung. He can’t deny magic the way he used to, and it doesn’t matter anyway, not anymore. He doesn’t dwell on it, once he realizes magic doesn’t always have to be what he writes about in his stories. It _could_ be big, fantastical things, sinister and inexplicable, or it could be smaller, inconsequential at first glance—people and places and things and the feelings that come with them. No feeling is too small to be magic. Soonyoung taught him that, and finally, after spending so long in the absence of feeling, Wonwoo let himself learn it. 

As they travel they search together for the strangest sights and the most unbelievable stories, for inspiration and for the experience of investigating and exploring. Every port they drop anchor in they woo until it gives up its secrets, and they leave with another tale to take back to land someday. Late into the night, at corner tables in taverns, or in drafty rooms in inns, or in their own cozy cabin aboard the ship, they mull over what they’ve heard, what they’ve seen. As they sail, Soonyoung will read what Wonwoo writes, pages and pages of notes and drafts, scribbling his own ideas and doodles in the margins; or sometimes, Wonwoo will read out loud, with Soonyoung interjecting every minute or so, narrating additions to Wonwoo and gesticulating so enthusiastically that Wonwoo throws his notebooks to the floorboards and kisses him slow, just because. Because he wants to, and he can, and they don’t know where they’ll end up next until they get there, but they know they’re going to end up _somewhere,_ and that’s all that matters. It's good, and they're happy, and they're making their way, together. It's all Wonwoo could ask for. 

One morning, months after they’d first set sail, they find themselves on deck, watching the horizon and the waves. It turns out, the sight of Soonyoung at the bow of a ship, framed by the sky and silhouetted by the sun, is so much more than Wonwoo ever could have dreamed, and that’s what he’s thinking about when one of the deckhands steps up to the railing a few feet away from them. They nod to each other, friendly because there’s no reason not to be. 

“Getting colder,” the boy remarks offhand, and takes a drag of a long, thin cigarette. 

Wonwoo meets Soonyoung’s eyes and they smile, just for each other, secret and sly and small. 

“It is,” Wonwoo says. Waves crash against the hull of the ship, and Soonyoung’s hand in his is as warm and as soft as it’s ever been. “Autumn must be coming.” 

**Author's Note:**

> yeet..........if you made it this far please know i would LITERALLY die for u
> 
> \- some of the characters here are extremely loosely based on characters from the snow queen, which is my favorite fairy tale, but not really the actual plot of the snow queen (only in a few vague ways, and even MORE loosely than the characters, and only if you squint.)  
> \- a lot of soonyoung's whole Thing was inspired by mollymauk from critical role (flamboyant sexy tattooed and pierced traveling carnival performer is my absolute jam) as when i started this fic i was having feelings about him for reasons that are spoilers (on the off chance there are any critters reading this who aren't caught up)  
> \- speaking of tattoos, the amount of matching tattoos these fuckers get throughout their travels post-fic is just disgusting.  
> \- sorry they play with each other's hair so much in this....i only noticed it on my last read through......it's a thing.  
> \- there was no reason for this to be specified in the fic but the crew of the ship soonyoung and wonwoo take off on is absolutely the boyz and the deckhand at the end is hwall specifically as a token of my love for rabaab cuddlebone  
> \- last but not least, raconteur--the name of the ship wonwoo sailed on--is a word for someone who is an exceptional storyteller. i wasn't sure how to work it into the fic itself without it feeling too on the nose but it's too important to me not to mention it at all :')
> 
> i'm [@wonuza](https://twitter.com/wonuza) on twitter! if you livetweeted this please @ me! if you have things to say but you're feeling too shy to leave a comment or @ me stop by my [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/nonu)! i'm desperate for feedback on this and terrified that no one will read it so. if u liked it pls tell me. okay bye love you all


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